


Cold Comfort

by PrydonianAlchemist



Category: Doctor Who, The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Also my brain is terrible so dont mind if the lore is off, Canon-Typical Violence, Death to the Mechanisms Spoilers, F/F, Gen, Im gonna start adding content warnings in the notes before each chapter, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Just adding those in case, Just as a reference, Make sure to read the cws/tws!, Mind that its slight OOC because im terrible at replicating personalities, Suicidal Thoughts, Well the lore is off but sometimes on purpose for plot reasons, Yeah this fan fic is um very dark, a lot of self projection goes on here, a lot of thoughts from my ace/lesbian self and i have no idea what im doing half of the time, i project a lot thats probably why, just as a general warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrydonianAlchemist/pseuds/PrydonianAlchemist
Summary: In which life doesn't end.
Comments: 50
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Nastya is rescued
> 
> cw/tw: Character death, mentions of suicide, death of loved one (mention), injury/blood mention

_Space_.

  
She had always thought of space as a cold, unwelcoming place, yet somehow, it had now become a comfort. Comfort, she found, in a place that would drive even the hardiest of people mad. 

  
She didn't know when she would wake — _if_ she ever could. Her blood was already frozen, her heartbeat all but stalled, and brain function nearly gone. Whatever was left of her consciousness floated around in a frozen, endless void.

  
Heavy grew her breath — that now too, had become useless. Nothing could be recycled that was worth something. 

  
With whatever consciousness she had left — and though she hated it — she began to regret that she had ever left.

  
But she had nothing to return to, anyway.

  
With the Aurora gone, she felt as though there was something missing. This void had opened in her heart, a void deeper than the depths of space, a void that could never be filled again.

  
It felt... It felt...

  
Too... _empty_.

  
It wasn't something worth dwelling on, especially in her exhausted mind. Everything would pass away soon enough, including her, in this... cold comfort.

  
She let the last rush of air escape from her lungs, and waited for darkness to take her.

* * *

Her body refused to die. The mechanisms of her brain kept clicking, forcing her to cling onto life.

  
No matter how cold she was, the outside gradually began to warm.  
She smiled, though it was a sad smile. Perhaps she'd reached the warmth of that sun and would meet her demise that way. 

  
But no, it wasn't warm enough to be a star. It contained more of the warmth of a blanket, and was as comforting as such.

  
And even better, she could breathe again. She could move again. Her brain began to click and register feelings again... Emotions. 

  
A new thought entered her mind.

  
_Live, Nastya._

  
Solid ground had replaced the empty space, much to her surprise — though subconsciously Nastya knew she shouldn't be surprised when she could breathe already.

  
“You really don't like me today.” 

  
_Someone new?_

  
If she were completely awake, Nastya knew that she would have startled. There was some adjusting she had to do, and emotion wasn't at the top of the list of her priorities at the moment.

  
“I swear you need to look where you're going before you — _oh_.”

  
There was a hitch in the newcomer's voice — Nastya could pick up the slightest air of disappointment in their voice. She had been an unwelcome surprise to them, which wasn't surprising in the least.

  
“You really shouldn't be picking up passersby, especially in the middle of nowhere, and we don't even know that they're _alive_.”

  
 _I very much am_ , Nastya wanted to retort, but the words wouldn't come to her lips. _Did you assume... that you picked up a corpse in... actually that makes sense._

  
For a moment she did not move, but she took a shuddering breath that sent the message that she very much was still alive.

  
“Alright, you win.” The voice said, pointedly. There was very little Nastya could do to oppose his little statement, though mentally she snapped at him for sounding so stupid.

  
“If you're expecting me to kick you to wake you, I won't. I'm not that much of an idiot.”

  
_I could say otherwise._

  
Nastya fought herself to sit up. Her arm despised this, protesting against her movements. She spat a curse under her breath and forced herself up with the free arm.

  
_I forgot about that didn't I?_

  
“You're awake then?”

  
She only glared at the strange person — a man with wild hair and a scarf way too long for him to be wearing. No reply came from her mouth until she processed her surroundings.  
“Unfortunately...”

  
“You're saying that like it's a bad thing.” The man raised an eyebrow; he leaned back against a central console, which, to Nastya, was more chaotic than she could decipher at a glance.

  
She pulled a face and sat fully upright, clutching her arm. Though she said nothing, the glare she sent him was enough to answer his question.

  
“Oh... oh it is. May I ask why?”

  
Nastya ignored him, scooting back against the wall.

  
“So, then... how did you happen to be in this place at some wildly convenient time?” She muttered humorlessly, the unusual warmth returning to her body as she continued to process her surroundings. She stared suspiciously at the strange man. 

  
Immediately she knew that she'd asked a question too awkward for the man to process in the span of a few quick seconds, for he fixed Nastya with an unblinking, questioning stare.

  
“Well, I don't know about you, but where I was going was supposed to be...” He flung himself around the console, staring at a series of buttons as though they were some coded language. “Um... I don't think I actually meant to go anywhere.”

  
What appeared to be meant as some sort of smile upon the strange man's face would have more accurately been summed up as some sort of nonverbal excuse to get out of a conversation.

  
This forced a glare from Nastya, who, admittedly, felt way more than just angry at that reply. It answered nothing, and, frankly, she wanted out of here.

  
“Are you implying this terrible excuse for a ship just... showed up?” She rubbed her injured arm, which still dully ached.

  
“ _Oi_! She's not terrible! Unreliable, yes, but _terrible_?” The man gesticulated wildly with his hands. “Definitely not.”

  
For the first time since she'd woken up, Nastya smiled, but shook her head. “I'd still say terrible. You're not a very great pilot.”

  
The color drained from the man's face — Nastya knew that she'd cornered him. He was her prey now, and she could toy about with any information she so pleased.

  
But she stayed silent. Toying with his emotions was enough — information could come later, no matter how curious she was.

  
After some fighting with himself for words, the man let out a huff. He took off his scarf and discarded it on the console. There again the man went about playing with strange coded buttons that Nastya could vaguely understand. 

  
The controls and definitely the ship's layout were nowhere near alike to the Aurora's, which even Nastya had memorized over multitudinous millennia. 

  
She would have to wait for any opportunity to arise.

  
“I suppose I could take you home, unless floating in the depths of space is preferable.” The strange man continued to fiddle with the console buttons. “Which do you prefer more?”

  
Neither was preferable. She regretted both too much to make a decision on her own, but there was nobody she could really make a decision with, unless she counted relying on her own mind to spit out whatever garbage it could as assistance.

  
He turned back to face her. “Don't mind if the decision is hard, but for me it's a bit easier; I've dropped off plenty of people and thought nothing more about it.”

  
His seeming ignorance bothered Nastya, but the hint of spite in his voice told her there was something more he didn't want her to know.

  
She curled up tighter against the wall and shivered. The cold comfort still lingered with her — there was no way she was going back out there.

  
But she didn't want to stay in here, either. Not with this crazy man who thought he knew everything.

  
“If you’d rather stay here for now, I would not oppose that decision.” Too long of a pause passed before the man spoke again. “Or, if you find it suitable, I could take you back to your ship.”

  
“Aurora,” Nastya pulled at her coat sleeves. “She’s not _just_ a ship.”

  
“Mm?” The man’s voice rose, and his tone pricked with interest.  
Nastya deliberately chose not to reply. The man could figure this out on his own - she still did not trust him. Yes, he was eccentric, much like she had deemed herself to be, but his eclipsed hers in some big wave of abnormality.

  
“Listen, I don’t want to make this harder than it should be.” The man huffed. He leaned back against the console and Nastya mentally flinched. “It’s either stay here, back to your own ship, or out into the depths of space where you’ll very likely die. Are you willing to risk that again?”

  
“Yes, if you don’t shut up.”

  
“I am speaking a perfectly normal amount for my person. You are the flighty one.”

  
“ _Flighty_?”

  
“Yes, flighty.” The man yanked his scarf away from the console. “Very flighty.”

  
“I don't think you're using that word correctly.” Nastya retorted.

  
“Oh, I believe that I _am_.”

  
“I'm beginning to regret ever waking up in this godforsaken place.”

Her voice deepened to a snarl. “I hope it's not too late to reconsider freezing in the depths of space if I've become your problem.”

  
The man tied his scarf around his neck. A brief conflict seemed to play out in his body language, before he muttered, “If you hadn't left that damned ship in the first place —”

  
“How _dare_ you.” 

  
The room fell silent. Nastya could have said the tension was awkward, if not for the anger she'd hidden this entire time, held back through gritted teeth, through thinly veiled mental pain.

  
“You think she's just a _goddamn_ ship, but she was _more_ than that.” She visibly bared her teeth, fighting against the tears that sprung to her eyes. “She was ' _my_ ' ship. _My_ Aurora.”

  
The man fixed her with a judging, pointed stare.

  
“And only left because I... _I loved her_...”

  
Too painfully again she was flung back into that cold space, watching as the very last of the Aurora floated away from her into that star, to the place where she lay, enveloped in cold place, not knowing when she would wake up again but with a vague hope that it would be somewhere safe.

  
She forced herself to her feet. “I need to be left alone.”

  
“There's... there's a room down the hall.”

  
“Thanks,” Nastya sniffed, clutching her arm tighter. Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she grabbed into a railing near the outer wall, the only support she had.

  
“You're not hurt, are you?” The man interrupted her trek before she'd started, his state turning to that of concern.

  
Her hand fell away from her injured arm.

  
She'd forgotten about it.

  
Numb, she stared at the injury but didn't register the pain until she spotted the stains of quicksilver dripping to the floor.

  
As much as she wanted to reply, Nastya couldn't bring herself to form any words upon her lips. Even whatever function her brain had with words at the moment was spitting out incomprehensible garbage.   
Instead she forced out some half-baked lie, a single word as she turned away from the man. 

  
“ ** _No_**.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acquaintances are in order.  
> Trust, however, could be worked on.
> 
> cw/tw: passive suicidal ideation, brief mentions of death, brief blood (?) mention

And so she sat there, huddled in the grass of the impossible room, upon a steep overlook watching an even more impossible wilderness. 

_A room down the hall. Any room. Take your pick._

Yet it had to be the room that didn't fit her emotions quite right, the room that struggled so desperately to fit into her chaotic mind. The grass itself was too green, the air too fresh, and even the birds — those couldn’t possibly be here either — sounded too...

Human.

Nastya brushed her hand against the grass. Briefly, she smiled, but recoiled almost immediately as she realized what she was doing.

_I suppose that's... one good thing about the ship... even if it is... fairly pathetic._

  
Nastya knew how much better the warmth fought away the cold of space — however fake this wilderness was. The warmth was real, genuine, and welcoming, like an old friend. There was no dread that accompanied it.

Well, at least no dread until she began to over-think. Nastya's heart rose into her throat; she recalled the depths of space and how maddening they were, How alone she was as she watched her Aurora float away toward her death.

“I'm not in favor of being rescued,” she said quietly, to nobody in particular. “I'm not... the ' _damsel in distress_ '. Mostly it is... me doing the rescuing.”

Only the wind replied — a brief gust that blew back her space-tangled hair. Nastya suddenly wished that she hadn't left her coat out in the hall, especially discarded on the floor. 

It was warm here, yes, but Nastya knew that was only a comparison to space — the cold of which still lingered in her thoughts and in her blood. The comparison was highly inaccurate. Space was possibly in the negatives of hundreds of degrees below zero, while here was... still indescribably cold.

It was no longer comfortable here.

In a huff, Nastya got to her feet. The wind tripped over her feet and sent her half-tumbling, half-running down the hill she stood upon. She slipped the last few feet, nearly crashing into the door.

Desperate, she reached out for the handle — she caught it, breaking her odd fall.  
Panting, Nastya collapsed to the grass floor. Her heart thrummed loudly in her ears, drowning out any other noise she might have heard. 

_Maybe I'll just... fetch my coat from the hall. I'll fetch it and it'll be fine._

Nastya repeated this phrase to herself, pressing her forehead to the door.

  
She desperately wanted someone to respond, to speak with her. A distraction from her thoughts — she was severely reconsidering throwing herself back out —

“Are you in there?”

And there was that strange, eccentric man.

He didn't bother knocking, though the regret of his non-action echoed in his pacing footsteps behind the door. The betrayal of his emotions showed in every pause and turn of his pace, every time he skidded his feet upon the floor.

“I have something for you,” the man paused with a sigh. “I, um, found your coat in the hall.”

Nastya bolted to her feet and threw open the door.

The man was standing in the doorway. Nastya opened her mouth to verbally throttle him, but he handed her her coat.

“Be glad I fixed it,” He said, though the words were forced. “Oh, and be glad I found a way to get the mercury out of it, because it is virtually impossible to get mercury out of clothing unless you were really, _really_ trying to kill yourself.”

Nastya ignored him and snatched the coat out of his hands. She poured over the details to make sure that the strange man hadn't done anything to it besides fixing the tear in the arm. 

The sleeve had been sewn up so terribly well that Nastya couldn't tell that it had been torn in the first place. She offered him a brief, half-hearted smile, which disappeared as soon as he held out his hand.

“Listen, before you close the door,”

Nastya glared at him, scowling.

“We really have to get acquainted here.” The man stammered. 

“ _No_.” Nastya threw on her coat and slammed the door.

“If you're going to hate me properly, you should at least know my name.”

Nastya considered the suggestion as she fixed her collar. Again, she scowled, repeating her answer with a more firm, “ _Нет_.” 

_No._

“I - I'll be in the control room if you change your mind.”

It did change her mind, in fact. Almost immediately after the man's footsteps had retreated away, Nastya cautiously opened the door.

The man was hardly a distance away, plodding through the hall with his head down. He was twirling the ends of his scarf and whistling loudly.

Nastya felt some pity for the man. He had done her the valuable service of fixing her coat, after all. Had it been out of pity for her or something else, she didn't know.

Dismissing any further thought, Nastya crept out and shut the door quietly. The man, thankfully, didn’t seem to have noticed, for he continued his weird habit of twirling his scarf about.

“Hey, I-”

The man turned around and dropped his scarf to the floor. “Mm?”

“The coat. Um, thanks… for fixing it.”

Confusion crossed the man's face, which then turned into surprise. “Oh! Right, yes. Tedious task, tedious task.” He clicked his tongue and waved his hands wildly in the air. “The ship told me not to do it — wouldn't risk fighting her again, but... you know.”

“Oh so she talks to you too, then?” Nastya could only offer a weak smile as a further reply. “She told you not to fix my coat and this all wasn't some... strange voice in your head?”

“You don’t find talking to a ship.. strange?” The man scratched the back of his head; he was smiling quite awkwardly. “Wait, stupid question. Haha, sentient time ship — of course she talks to me.”

Mentally Nastya rolled her eyes, but a small chuckle escaped from her mouth. However she stepped back, ready to bolt back into the room should her safety feel compromised.

But nothing about this man spoke danger to her, other than his supposed ignorance which she surmised had likely more than once had gotten him into trouble.

“Right, then. I suppose you'd want a name.” He smiled widely before turning back around. “I’m the Doctor.”

He broke into a quicker pace back down the hall — not that the control room was that far away. His attention span — and his ecstatic mood — were quickly discarded into some metaphorical waste bin.

Against her better judgment — and because she pitied him again — Nastya hurried after the man. 

* * *

  
Nobody bothered talking even as they entered the control room. What was there to say, anyway? They were hardly acquaintances — they couldn't trust each other for that matter.

Or the trust was one-sided and Nastya had trust issues.

_No, that wasn't it._

“So, then...” The strange man broke her out of her brief trance and leaned back against the controls, which creaked in protest. Nastya — who'd found her once earlier place on the wall —flinched in sympathy for the ship but didn’t immediately protest. “I don't suppose we just keep... sitting around here like a flock of oblivious pigeons.”

“I - I don’t think you should be leaning on the console.”

“What?” The Doctor's expression immediately changed.

“Console.” Nastya pointed behind him and pulled a face. “Don’t lean on her like that. If you two really _care_ about each other, you wouldn't be treating her like that.”

“Oh,” The Doctor’s face turned a bright red; he visibly shrunk in his coat and moved away from the controls. “Right.” 

“Sorry.” He gently patted the console but sent a pointed stare back in Nastya's direction.

Nastya plastered a mocking smile on her face; she forced back a humorless laugh that rose in her throat.

“Nastya.”

“Mm?”

“This isn't because I trust you... Doctor.” She changed the subject.

“Hm,” the Doctor pulled a face and tapped at the controls. “Fair. Well, um... I don't suppose sitting around here is helping any of us, don't you think, dear girl?”

That question clearly hadn't been directed at Nastya.

A pause.

“No,” he said as he drew out a breath. “No, I suppose not.”

The Doctor, looking rather preoccupied with himself, kept fiddling with the controls.

Nastya turned away from him, but hardly made it a few steps before she was interrupted.

“Oh, before I forget... I really suggest that you hold onto something.”

“Hold onto-” The first sense this man had made in a while, and it was this. “At least you warned-”

The sentence was never to be finished — one jerk of the ship, and Nastya was thrown to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went against my better judgement and decided to release this chapter a day early. I may stick to the biweekly schedule because it allows me to work at a pace I like, plus it will stay consistent.
> 
> Edit: 10/17/20 - Chapter Three's gonna be a little late this week! Wednesday was SAT day so I had virtually no time to finish! It should be updated sometime this weekend, then the normal schedule should resume!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this place is what it seems to be.
> 
> \-----  
> An asterisk (*) around a quote indicates a translation will be in the notes at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> ~~~
> 
> cw/tw: Xenophobia, Russophobia (?), general discrimination, passing mention of police brutality, transphobia

It was a while before the ship steadied itself. Even then, Nastya struggled to stand, for the world still spun around her head at a sickening speed. She had never been used to turbulence — not here, not back in the Aurora, on no ship whatsoever.

She wanted to call out how reckless the man was being, how bad the turbulence was —but was thrown to the floor again before she could do so.

_I’m close to giving up. This close._

Shakily, she stood again, dashing for the railing to steady herself. Nastya held on tightly with one hand, covering her mouth with the other. It made her head spin. Her feet slipped on the floor, and the railing she had relied on for balance failed. She slipped and crashed to the floor once more.

_I give up._

“Oh, well...” From Nastya's view on the floor, the Doctor backed away from the controls, waving his hands about in the air. “I'm sorry you're mad at me. Well, you're the one who — what do you mean she's —” He glanced over his shoulder. “She's on the floor.”

“I am... I am _fine_.” Nastya forced herself to her knees. She feigned the ' _fine_ ' facade until her nausea returned and she winced. “And I certainly do _not_ need your help.”

Though the worry remained on the Doctor's face, he backed off and turned toward the controls. “Well, then. I best be off and scouting. I trust you'll be able to keep out of trouble?”

Nastya snorted.

“Alright. I guess I'll take that as a yes.” The Doctor sighed and pointed at the console. “You... You keep an eye on her.”

_He's absolutely mad._

Dizzy, Nastya rose to her feet; she grabbed into the railing when her feet slipped again. The metal creaked in protest, and Nastya scolded herself — though briefly.  
The Doctor paced towards the door. No glance was spared in Nastya's direction as he left the ship and locked the door behind him.

She leaned over the railing and sighed. “I pity you — being stuck with him all day.”  
Briefly, she laughed, but cut herself off. “I guess I'm not much better, am I?”

Only a metallic creak answered her. She didn't know whether to take that as an answer or just a natural ship thing. Either way, Nastya felt no reason to stay in the control room anymore.

She backed away from the railing — wincing once again — and turned for the hall.

* * *

She found her peace in the grass of that room.

After taking several cautious glances around, Nastya laid down, disturbed only by her thoughts — why she was here, why should she stay... A lot of ' _why_ ' questions in particular.

When the wind blew, she sat up again.

It was gentle; it was warm and welcoming. Small bursts tangled and untangled her hair.

She closed her eyes. When she smiled, the wind dropped and was still.

_Are you trying to talk to me?_

The wind picked up again, fast and strong enough to pick her to her feet. It slowed once she steadied and swirled lightly around her head. She reached out as though to try and grasp it, and it swirled around her arm before settling just below her shoulder.

_What do you — Oh._ Instinctively, her hand traveled there. She felt where the tear had been, where the injury — now healed — had been.

_You're... worried?_

A gust swirled around her head again. It wasn't a clear answer, but after some decision, Nastya took it as some form of affirmative.

_Oh_... She laughed — her hand dropped back to her side. _I'm fine._

The wind dropped again. Nastya sat back down in the grass and stared at her lap. She was glad there was some peace here — even better so that the Doctor had disappeared off to who knew where for a short while. Still, she couldn't escape the lingering thought of how human this room was — the wind was a grateful exception. She was so used to the interior of the Aurora, where she could easily hide away in blissful ignorance of the rest of the crew.

_The... no — her_ Aurora. Her mind was already slipping. She couldn't forget about her, about anything she —

“ ** _Earth_**!” The door behind her flew open. Nastya yelped and leaped out of her thoughts. She opened her mouth to quickly protest but was interrupted again.

“Mid twentieth century — America, I would say. Don't know exactly where and I didn't care to check.”

Nastya sighed, indignant.

“I trust you haven't gotten into trouble, Nastya.”

She rose to her feet and turned on him; as much as she tried to remain calm, her words were harsh and strained.

“Scare the shit out of me like that again, and I will throw you out into space.”  
The Doctor took a step into the room, only to be blown back into the hall by a gust of wind. “Well, uh. Point taken.”

A pause.

“Oh not you, too.” He shut the door and began to mutter impatiently. Nastya could catch him muttering behind the door his footsteps pacing back and forth., “I've nearly been thrown out into space multiple times... No, it wasn't because of that. Well, I don't trust you either, how's that?”

Another pause.

“Fair.”

_I suppose I have to let him know that I'm coming, don't I?_

No response — she didn't expect one, anyway. Whatever the ship was saying, her priorities were with the Doctor first.

Nastya sighed and opened the door. The Doctor nearly leaped in surprise.

“Oh, she said you weren't coming.”

“Well, she lied.” Nastya retorted. She smiled until the Doctor turned away and began to tread down the hall; she chased after him, out of what pity she had for him, if she had any pity at all after his scare — pity of which he didn't deserve.

The door shut and clicked distantly behind her. She paid hardly a glance backward but knew who had done it.

Nastya quickly dismissed the thought and hurried ahead.

* * *

Upon the first creak of footsteps, the ship's control room lights began to brighten. A welcome, perhaps. Nastya immediately smiled at the reaction, though wished she'd knew more than just this subtle welcome.

But, from experience, the Doctor wasn't a reliable one to ask.

“But yes, I must be checking the time.” The Doctor graced the short distance between the hall and the controls — breaking Nastya out of her thoughts. “ _Oi_ , what did I say about patronizing me? That's criticism. _Yes_ , there's a difference.”

While he was busy, Nastya watched him. Though thoroughly amused by how frantic he was working, she saw that a lot of what he was doing seemed erratic and hurried.

She allowed herself a moment before she interrupted his busywork. When she cleared her throat, he startled from the controls and glanced up at her. “What is it?”

“You're not rushing anything, are you?”

“Me?” He glanced back up, but his gaze lingered longer. “No. What makes you think — oh.”

“So that's normal?”

“Of course...” He faltered. “Of course it is.” He backed away from the controls and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I'm trying to figure out where we are.”  
“You wouldn’t be looking all over the place if you genuinely were.”

“My brain’s all over the place. I forget sometimes.”

Nastya opened her mouth to protest but shut it. The argument wasn’t worth having. She sighed and leaned away from the railing. The Doctor glanced back at her upon this action, but only huffed and went back to his work.

Listless, Nastya’s gaze traveled along the railing, and followed it to the door. It came to her that she had not seen behind those doors since she had woken up in this strange place. She didn’t even know how much time had passed - a day at most, maybe more. Her sense of time had withered long since her first death - she’d only needed it in more important situations, only called it up when necessary.

“Alright,” The Doctor broke out of his trance. Nastya snapped her gaze toward him.

“So, I think I hid us quite well. I think, but that is not a definite knowing. I mean—”

“Doctor—” Nastya walked around to the door.

“I’ve gotten caught even in the most secluded of spaces —”

“Doctor, we need to go.”

“I can tell you…” The Doctor laughed humorlessly. “That was not fun. Almost died. Or did I die, I don’t recall?”

“ ** _Doctor_**.” Nastya snapped.

“Mm?”

“ _Nobody cares_.” Nastya hung out at the door, impatiently tapping at the door handle.

“Oh, nonsense.” The Doctor sputtered. “I'm sure the — you're _agreeing_ with her? Don't patronize me too — I have enough on my plate without you both... Not caring at all.”

He balanced on the heels of his feet and smiled quite wildly. “Come on. No use keeping the world waiting, is there?”

Nastya pulled a face, but opened the door and stepped outside.

* * *

It was immediately that the cold air hit. Nastya was tossed back into the now-closed doors of the ship, inches away from where the Doctor stood in a haze of thoughts.

“December... Nineteen... Forty? No,” The Doctor pushed past Nastya. “Forty-nine, fifty. Hmm... I'd say we're in a major city... Can't tell from the smell alone. I did a good parking job, I will give myself that.”

_Parking job_. Nastya nearly scoffed but held it back.

They were surrounded by a brick wall on all sides but for in front of them. Cobblestone lay at their feet, worn and caked with alley dust.

_We're hidden... I'll give him the benefit of the doubt but maybe I'll remind him later when he's gloating._

She stepped forward toward the end, though was interrupted by another one of the Doctor's audible thoughts.

“That's funny...” He said; he glanced around, just as she had been doing.

“Funny?” Nastya glanced at him, then back to the street. “I don't find anything about this funny, if that's what you're insinuating.”

“No, not that. I'd just...thought you'd be surprised.” He leaned back against the ship, erasing any emotion from his face. “About the ship. Unless dimensionally transcendent spaceships are what your line of 'normal' is.”

“Doctor,” Nastya heaved a long sigh; every emotion left her face. “My girlfriend was a spaceship.”

Her statement was followed by a tense silence. Yet it was brief, and she smiled. “Trust me, even that's not the weirdest thing I've seen in whatever lifespan I've had, especially with you and your...” Nastya gestured back at the ship. “Dimensionally transcendent time ship.”

“Ah — fair point.” The Doctor said after a brief mental protest. “Come on.”

He hurried ahead of her and onto the street.

* * *

Emerging from an alleyway wasn't the best entrance one could make, admittedly, and it could have been better... Had the Doctor not immediately tripped over his scarf on the way out.

Nastya had immediately offered to help, but as the Doctor insisted that he was fine — and proved to be so a minute later — she stood there and watched as he composed himself.

Though no people were immediately around, Nastya could feel the judging gazes of others already upon the both of them.

“Judging from that alley… and the looks of it… I’d say somewhere outside New York City? Could be wrong, but I -”

“Doctor,”

“Yes, Nastya?”

She bowed her head, glancing warily around. On both sides of the street, people had stopped to watch them. A lone dog walker reprimanded their dogs as they paused to look at them.

“I think we should get going.”

He gave no reply other than an impatient, intelligible mutter, and pulled a notebook out of his coat pockets.

“ _Doctor_ —” She kept glancing at him, then went back to scanning the street; she could still see the people that had stopped, but around half of them had resumed their daily business, including the dog walker, though they still stared at both of them warily.

Untrustworthiness heavily painted the air, the people's faces, and even deafened the noise. Now it was clear that two people emerging from a city alleyway wasn't the most presentable entrance in the universe.

“Doctor, I think we should —” She reached out to grab onto the man's hand, but her grip closed on empty air. “Doctor?”

_Oh... Oh, dear._

Nastya whirled around on the sidewalk. Aside from several shops, what could only be cars, and several people walking along — now as if nothing had happened — there was no sign of the Doctor's odd figure.

_How far could a man like him get in the span of a few seconds?_

She looked amongst the shops and the small gatherings of people; she crossed the street to look into a small bookshop that may have attracted the Doctor's attention.

Unfortunately, it was empty — closed perhaps. Nastya backed away and sat on the window ledge, surveying the street from a different angle.

_I'm going to kill him when I find him._ She muttered.

* * *

Unsuccessfully, she tried asking around. Everyone would send her sideways glances, the occasional disconcerting murmur, or choose not to reply at all.

She wondered why for a moment as she padded down the street — perhaps it was their entrance, perhaps their way of dress was a bit too strange.

Or was it her? Yes, certainly she didn't completely conform to society's standards, but there was still no reason to ignore her. Perhaps she looked too oddly when she spoke to people, or maybe she didn't look them in the eye quite right. Perhaps it was her voice, or her accent, which still held that distinct Cyberian lilt of her heritage.

But she didn’t need to dwell on that. There were possibly countless other reasons other than the one she was dwelling on. Nastya fixed her coat and looked among the shops, hoping that the man’s oddly-clad form would show up.

For one, Nastya found herself lucky that the street was so empty. Looking at the sky, it appeared to be hardly past noon - the sun high above but barely giving off any warmth. Autumn or winter — either way, the cold had begun to seep into the fabric of her coat, no matter how heavy it was. She still shivered. The cold rather came from within, and this weather didn't help much.

_If he hid somewhere warm, that would be nice_. She shivered and drew her arms close, and pulled on the shoulders of her coat sleeves, as though that would warm her. Nastya sent a glance ahead; she found an opening into a square of sorts — which was unusually quiet, but she surmised that this wasn’t a big town, or possibly just an offset of a larger one, which, even from the size of the shops, didn’t provide her with much evidence to give her any logical conclusion to come to.

She'd have to gather more information, get a survey of the area to find —  
A lone figure bumped into her and yelped loudly.

“Watch it, I'm — * _Боже, люди должны смотреть, куда они идут*_...” She sneered under her breath multiple times before it occurred who had run into her. It was the dog walker from before — a timid, dark-haired man who immediately averted his gaze as though expecting a reprimand.

“I'm sorry.”

“* _Извинения*_...” The man tugged on a leash — the end of which was attached to a small dog who barked impatiently at its owner. He smiled nervously and turned to head in the direction he appeared to have come, but then... he stopped. Nastya took a few steps back, cautious.

“* _Подожди, ты говоришь по-русски*_?”

“* _Русский*_?” She certainly recognized the familiar inflection in his voice. “* _О, да*.._.” She nodded quickly, still cautious. _“*Я говорю по-русски*_...”

“* _Прости, если я беспокоила тебя*_... It's just —” The man faltered. “You know how much of a struggle it is to find a —”

“Nastya!”

Doctor...

She barely moved out of the way in time. Unfortunately, that left the man in the Doctor's path. They both crashed to the sidewalk. The dogs the man had been walking took off down the street.

“Oh, Nastya, um,” The Doctor scrabbled off of the man and brushed himself off. “I may have gotten in trouble. People chasing me. You know.”

“Chasing you...” It took Nastya a moment to fully register his words. “I don't want to know. ”

The footsteps rapidly approaching all three of them reaffirmed that thought. Nastya pulled a face and shook her head.

In a brief panic, she apologized to the man and grabbed the Doctor's hand. She broke into a run, half-pulling, half-dragging him along down the empty street.

* * *

This was his fault.

She blamed him for this. She blamed him for getting them both in trouble. She blamed him for getting her into this mess in the first place, and now, because of his fatal error in judgment, they were heading back to the place that the Doctor had been running from — now in the back of a police car.

The ride was an eternity, and Nastya became convinced that they were going in circles — she'd seen some landmarks twice, maybe thrice, but she couldn't be quite sure. The experience threw her off and didn't help much with nausea.

She’d closed her eyes then, and slept for most of the way there; not even the Doctor bothered to make a single peep. When she opened her eyes she could see the blur of the city streets, flashes of lives she’d never know. Only the sound of the car engine disturbed her peaceful silence.

That is until the Doctor decided to break it.

“So, this is fine…” He clicked his tongue. “We’ve been arrested and we’re being taken down to the station. Dunno why though. They have to have a reason because this is a perverted sense of justice.” He raised his voice at the officer.

When Nastya didn’t immediately respond — which she didn’t want to; snapping at a babbling idiot was worthless — the man sighed and sat back in his seat, fiddling with his restraints.

“You know, this is your fault.”

“Oh, _my_ fault?” Nastya snapped away from the window. She struggled at her restraints for a moment, deciding whether it was worth freeing herself. Judging from the backward glances the officer kept giving the both of them, it wasn't worth it. “We wouldn't be stuck like this if you hadn't run off and broken into a federal building.”

“You could have used English — this is America — it's not that hard.”

“What if the man didn't speak English? Where would that have — Wait what does this have to do with us getting caught?”

“ _ **Quiet**_.” The officer snapped. The Doctor flinched but bared his teeth angrily.

“Oh, I'll be quiet.” He snapped loudly. The officer hardly paid him a glance, even as he freed his hands from the restraints. “See?” He chuckled, smiling at Nastya.

“Show-off.” She tinkered with her restraints before they fell away as well. She brushed them to the floor and kicked them under her seat. “* _Эти вещи сука*_.”

The officer sent her a backward glance. Nastya stuck her tongue out at him — a childish gesture, but it was worth the response she got back.

“You're welcome...” She muttered.

* * *

“Alright, both of you out.”

The door flew open. Nastya shoved herself out of the car and onto the pavement; she waved a rude gesture at the officer, who, fortunately, wasn't looking.

She scanned the building that now stood before her. Though tall and intimidating, the building was derelict and worn, as though a gentle tap would send it crumbling to the ground. No identifying marks, no sign up front that marked it as a station. Just some broken and battered old thing.

The Doctor smiled and casually stepped out after Nastya. the officer was quite unimpressed — and surprised as well — to see that he had freed himself. He'd tried to restrain the Doctor again, but he'd freed himself again and had thrown the restraints into the street, where they were promptly run over by a passing car. Nastya laughed for a few quick seconds before being told to be quiet again — the officer was more bent on that than the fact that she'd freed herself as well.

It didn't matter. They were all going to the same place, and there was no chance of getting away without being shot at. Well... she could run, but there was the question of whether the Doctor could join her — she doubted he was as immortal as she was, and death for her was never a pleasant experience.

“Come on.” The officer broke into her wandering thoughts. “We can't just wait here all day, you know.”

“Oh, but we can. Just waste all day —” The Doctor was shoved away from the car. “You really have that audacity to—”

“Would you _shut up_?” The officer shoved him again. He glanced at Nastya. “You too. Go inside.”

* * *

“Y'know, I really should apologize.”

The Doctor was the last to enter through the doors of the station. It was unclear who the apology was directed towards, but neither of them was likely to accept it — Nastya surely wasn't.

It didn't matter. She was too focused on the building to care about an apology.  
On one hand, Nastya might have said it looked like a normal station, but there still was that feeling of 'off' — worse than the outside had given her. She wasn't even sure if she could call it a station — just a desk with a tackboard of papers behind it, manned by a lone officer; what looked to be an interrogation room to the left of the desk; and a spiraling hall beyond to either side.

“Are you sure?”

Nastya's attention dragged to the officer at the desk — she was a dark-haired woman who looked like she'd rather be somewhere else than this godforsaken place. The desk officer, though reluctant, handed the man his papers.

“I mean, you could've just misheard. It's not like any unfamiliar thing is that.”

“I swear,” said the man. “Do you think he would've said anything otherwise?”

Nastya sent a glance towards the Doctor. He was messing with his scarf tassels and had a lost look in his eyes.

“Maybe I'll ask him,” the officer glanced back from the desk and shuffled the papers in his hands. “... Bound to get something out of him...”

“Just get in there, Leopold.” The desk officer muttered, tense.

The officer — Leopold as she had now come to know him as — glanced back at the two pointedly and shuffled his papers again. He plastered an obviously fake smile on his face and nodded back to the desk officer. “Right.”

He waved back to the two. “C'mon. Can't waste any more time, can we?”

* * *

The moment she entered that room, she knew everything that was to come — every unspoken word, everything not yet written on the pages that Leopold held in those spindly hands of his. She didn't like it. Her feet itched to run — that chase back through the city needed a continuation. For once, she didn't like being stuck.  
Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a choice. Stuck with a bumbling fool for an acquaintance and officer she already didn't like — and who was staring at her.

“Right... You first.” The man set the paper upon a table in the middle of the room and sat heavily in a small chair. He pointed at another across from him. Nastya —reluctant — promptly obeyed.

“First things first,” Leopold took out and clicked a pen; he scribbled on the paper. “Name.”

Nastya leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “ _No_.”

“I need this for records.”

“Does it look like I _care_?”

“You need to cooperate.”

“Fine, then.” She almost sneered. “Nastya.”

“Last name?”

“I don't think I have to tell you.”

Leopold groaned but scribbled what he could on the paper. He wrote quickly but pushed the pen into the paper near to the point of tearing. There was an occasional heavy breath from him before he dropped the pen upon the table.

“How do you know him?” He gestured to the Doctor; when Nastya turned to look at him, he was leaned against the wall, staring off into space.

“Acquaintance.” She muttered. “I have never met this man in my life.”

“You seemed quite familiar, earlier, though.”

“Would you _lay off_? I gave you an answer.”

Leopold sighed again. He was hesitant to pick up the pen but eventually did and resumed his task.

“So... Your name... It suggests a Russian origin. Does it not?”

“I'm not Russian.” It wasn't entirely a lie. Whether Leopold perceived it that way wasn't her business.

“* _Тогда объясни, что ты сказала раньше_ ,*” Leopold smiled and clicked the pen again. “* _Настя*_...”

“* _Нет*_ ,” Nastya was equally pleased. “* _Леопольд*_.”

Leopold's face brightened with a sickening glee; he scribbled on the paper quickly and lightly, hardly leaving any marks on the page. He then shuffled them away and flipped them over.

“* _Я рад, что вы меня понимаете*_ ,” He leaned uncomfortably close before her. “* _Иначе эта встреча была бы очень скучной*_...”

“ _Я рада, что мы такие единомышленники, сука_.”

Alright, so you say you aren't Russian but you speak their language.” Leopold stood from the chair. “And better yet — and I really should point this out lest I forget — you're stuck with that accent. You're not able to fool me that easily.”

Nastya huffed. She wasn't going to bother answering any more questions, spoken or otherwise.

The man eventually sighed, leaning over on the metal table. “You,” He waved Nastya away. “Go. Now you,” he gestured at the Doctor — who was brooding in the back corner. “Come sit.”

“Fair warning,” The Doctor leaped to his feet, brooding gone. “I do talk a lot. And, I do mean —”

“Shut up, man.”

“If you say so.” The Doctor laughed, which earned him a rather disapproving glare. He traded places with Nastya, sitting heavily in the chair and crossing his legs upon the desk.

Nastya stared at the floor, at the dust she kicked up. The Doctor's interrogation was hardly worth listening to, anyway. It was the same questions that had been asked of her, then that worthless language test for who knew what.

After a while, she bent down and messed around with the dust. The floor hadn't been cleaned in a while, perhaps months. Neglect had worn through the cracks of wood and marble and scattered up through the walls. Even the window above Leopold had a thin hairline crack. There was no way she could trust where they were — this building was too slow in its upkeep to be federal.

She wanted to get the Doctor's attention, but judging from the way Leopold glanced at her occasionally, he wasn't worth interrupting.

Eventually, her attention on the building wore thin, and she turned her attention on the interrogation, which already was half over.

“You see, I usually wouldn't throw you in here without reason.” Leopold folded his hands upon the desk. “But... seeing as you tried to break into the station earlier, and the fact that your friend here understood me back there, I'm pretty sure there's a very valid reason.”

“* _Боже мой*_...” Nastya broke in. There was no reason she hadn't said it in English — she'd already blown her cover. “That doesn't mean anything. One simple phrase in Cy — Russian, and you've got the who world chasing after us. Who will you send after us next — the Kaiser? No... He's dead, isn't he? Do you even have a Kaiser here?”

The Doctor glared at her from over his shoulder. The unspoken phrase of “shut up” played out upon his face. Nastya waved a rude gesture back at him and he snorted.

Leopold smacked a hand upon the metal desk — Nastya flinched. The Doctor whipped back around, tensing up.

“Oh, well... Excuse my friend.” The Doctor echoed Leopold, smacking his own hand upon the desk. “Listen... We. Are. Passing. Through. Or haven't I made that clear enough, already?”

“Oh, you have...” Leopold flashed the Doctor a cold smile, then gestured at Nastya. “But he hasn't.”

Nastya felt the color drain from her face. It was her the man was referring to — there was no one else in the room unless Leopold had decided in some bold move to be self-centered for a mere moment.

But no, his gaze was trained upon her.

“Oh, you think this is a _joke_?” She laughed. This hadn't happened in a while, and it was quite laughable. “You think this is _funny_?”

The Doctor pulled a face, rapidly glancing from one person to another. He held up his hands as if to break up the fight but was quickly snapped at by Leopold, who unfortunately was still staring at Nastya with a cold rage in his eyes.

“My deal is with him, not you.” Leopold glanced away from Nastya for a brief moment, rebuking the Doctor with a snarl. “You will leave me alone.”

“I could second that with you,” Nastya crossed her arms; she smirked briefly but was silenced by Leopold's cold glare. “I'm doubting the chance I'm giving you, though I believe you lost that the moment we entered this very room..”

She stared at her feet and shut her mouth. Leopold's words became a blur in her ears, though it was clear enough what he was saying.

“Nastya, I think we—” The Doctor's protest was quickly cut off with more blurred yelling from the other man.

Leopold got up from his chair and approached Nastya with cold fury. “You are supposed to be listening, aren't you? Or am I not making myself clear enough?”

She had enough. Nastya grabbed him by the lapels and whirled around, slamming him into the wall.

“I gave you your chance.” She snarled. “Pull that stunt again, and I will give you something to fear. Is that _fucking_ clear?”

Stubbornly, the man refused to reply. Nastya let go of him and he dropped to the floor.

Shaking, she turned to the Doctor, offering him an uneasy smile as though that'd sway him into the lie of thinking she was fine. She was, despite the lie — perhaps that had been some surge of adrenaline, a brief moment of hubris that had compelled her to easily throw the otherwise overpowered man into the wall.

Hopefully she'd done enough damage to make Leopold reconsider his words.  
Instead, Leopold laughed, a harsh, grating sound that Nastya despised. “You shouldn't have done that.” His voice shook — Nastya couldn't pick up emotion from his voice otherwise. “Our quarrel is not done.”

Leopold raised a shaking hand to ruffle graying hair and stepped toward the door. “You both... Stay here. Don't try any more stunts like that.”

His gaze jerked to Nastya on the last word. When Nastya didn't flinch away — she could see the frustration in his eyes of how undaunted she had been — he growled and threw open the door.

“* _Мудак*_...” Nastya spat after him.

“Well...” In his moment of caged freedom, the Doctor rose from the chair. “You showed him.”

“Yeah...” Nastya raised a shaking hand to her forehead. “I never want to do that again.”

“Well, when we get out of here, I'll make sure the next place is a bit more... Just, well... Not filled with people like him.”

“Any place is better than this.” Nastya stared at the Doctor for a moment before her gaze traveled to the window above his head. “Any place. Remind me to throw myself into space when we leave. And don't rescue me this time; I don't need rescuing.”

She glanced at the door when it creaked, but she didn't jump. No human hand had caused that noise — judging from the dry air and the cracks in the cement walls, it had likely been something relating to the age of the building.

“You would think they would make any escape a less considerable thing.” The Doctor joined her in her studies. “Judging from the smell, the weak structure of that wall, and generally everything related to this building's age... I would say it has about a good three years left.”

“You'd think as a federal place, they'd take care of it more.” Nastya watched as several pieces of cement dust fell from the ceiling. Mentally, she winced. “Yet, I'm assuming they've got worse things to do.”

The Doctor spun around in his chair — his gaze still flickered about the small interrogation room. Though he didn't reply verbally, the glance he then sent Nastya told her, “Unfortunately...”

He spun around in the chair again, then lay upside down, his legs crossed upon the desk. “I trust we'll be out soon. I do hope that then ship remembers how long I said we'd be gone, and she'll worry.”

“I don't recall you telling her anything about when we'd be back, aside from reprimands.”

The Doctor's face paled. “Oh... dear. You're right.” He sat up straight and anxiously played with his scarf tassels. “But I'm sure she'll remember. She always remembers.”

“Will she?” Nastya sighed, doubtful.

“Yes,” The Doctor gave her an uneasy smile. “Or my name isn't —”

“You two, get up.” Leopold returned and gave the two burning stares. “We're going.”

“Well, no time like the present.” The Doctor laughed, but only briefly as Leopold silenced him again. When the man turned away, he gave a stifled laugh. “Can't one have a good laugh around here?”

Nastya only rolled her eyes.

* * *

The corridor was endless, twisting in ways that put the ship's corridors to shame. Cells lined every few feet, though Nastya hardly saw anyone in them aside from a lone man who watched the group cautiously as they passed by.

Their cell, Leopold explained — with that harsh, grating tone — was at the end of the hall. They would stay there until the other officer, Lucia, came to retrieve them in the morning.

Unfortunately, that was a long while away.

As soon as Leopold had locked them up and left, the Doctor found his place upon the lower bed and lay down upon it.

“Yeah, I think we can agree that this is my fault.” He said.

Nastya flashed him a look but said nothing.

“Okay, weird question..” He raised his hand, though he already had Nastya's attention. “Has this happened before... To you?”

“People being assholes in general, or...” The realization came before the words left her mouth. “Oh,” She muttered. “Yeah... Yeah, it's happened before...”

“Did you throw them into the wall as well?” The Doctor sniffed, the barest hint of humor in his voice. “Or did they suffer a worse fate than dear Leopold out there?” He sat up on the bed and began playing with the ends of his scarf.

Nastya rolled her eyes. “I would say it was... unfortunate accident.”

“Not your fault, I'm guessing?”

Nastya shook her head. “To sum it up — don't piss off my brother.”

“Ah...” The Doctor huffed humorlessly. “I get it.”

He lay back down on the bed and propped his legs on the end. “I never had brothers— well, full brothers anyway. My mother died fairly young and my father... well you would say remarried but he was around... I don't know how many siblings I had but it was surely more than I can count on one hand.”

Nastya was silent before she replied. She stared out of the bars of the cell down the long hallway, then sighed. “Four brothers. I had four brothers.”

When she looked back, she found the Doctor staring at her.

“And I somehow got the unfortunate chance of being the only daughter.”

“‘Unfortunate’?”

“Constantly stuck in the palace, nobody to talk to, all while your brothers are off doing...” Nastya pulled a face and sighed. “Whatever boys are allowed to do.”

They both lingered in silence for a while. Nastya was compelled to make the Doctor reply to her statement, to make her feel a little bit less lonely, but abandoned the compulsion. She even once considered going on the upper bed to avoid her thoughts, but that thought was quickly dashed as the hall lights started flickering out.

So her only option was to lie on the floor.

As she took one last look out of the cell bars, Nastya took her coat off gently folded it up. She felt pity when she laid it down on the dusty floor, but it was all she had unless she wanted to risk clambering around in the dark.

_No_.

She shivered against the cold atmosphere. Already then that the cold of the cell had begun to creep in, and she couldn't stop shivering against it.

_We'll be out of here._

_I'm sure she'll remember. She always remembers._

Helpless reminders. The Doctor said his ship always knew when he was in danger. The selfish thought came of — why not her? Years spent on the Aurora had somehow conditioned her to a false sense of safety. Thoughts of the world outside had made it seem almost cruel — though she did enjoy the odd bit of chaos from time to time... often a few times more than her thoughts, which was an uncomfortable amount, to say the least.

She turned to look at the Doctor, but his back was toward her, and he was snoring softly anyway. Nastya shook her head and settled back down to watch him.

She began to count the creaks and footsteps about the place, and each rattle as more specks of dust fell to the floor, and then at long last, she fell asleep for the first time in a long while to silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did too much self projection in this chapter and some days I hate it. Admittedly I got a tad bit dysphoric at a couple scenes (particularly the interrogation because it was very loosely based off a real event in my personal life) and had to take a short break, but I think that week did me some good.  
> Anyway, I should be resuming our regular scheduling!
> 
> ~~~~  
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Note: I hardly speak Russian, let alone call myself fluent. These translations are to the best of my ability, and I kinda cheated with a translator.
> 
> * Watch it, I'm - God, people should watch where they are going
> 
> * Apologies ...”  
> "Wait, do you speak Russian?"
> 
> "Russian?" “Oh yes ...” "I speak Russian..."
> 
> "Sorry if I bothered you .. It's just -"
> 
> * "These things are a bitch."
> 
> * “Then explain what you said earlier,” "Nastya ..."
> 
> “No,” "Leopold."
> 
> * “I'm glad you understand me,” “Otherwise this meeting would be very boring ... "
> 
> "I'm glad we're such like-minded people, bitch."
> 
> * "My God ..." 
> 
> * "Asshole ..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things go according to plan... Or sometimes they don't.
> 
> Cw/tw: Implied abuse of power, vague and passing mention of war, sickness and suffering, major character death.
> 
> Translations are in the notes at the end of the chapter!

It was not silence, however, that she woke up to.

At first, she thought the ringing came from her ears, but after a quick check, it was quite apparent that it was from an external source.

Nastya snatched her coat and glasses up from the floor, and turned to the noise.

It was the Doctor, messily picking at the lock.

“Um, what are you doing?” Nastya blinked sleep from her eyes, though she could clearly process every detail of the situation as though her mind not been dulled by the recent slumber. She set her glasses upon her face.

"I'm trying to break us out of prison.” He held up a small piece of metal — a lockpick. “Can't you see that?"

"Yeah.” Nastya rubbed her temples and winced. “And hear it. You're going to have to be quiet about it, or we're going to get caught... again."

The Doctor paused, then sat back and sighed. For a moment, he seems to consider his words, then turns to look at her. His gaze is nothing less than pointed. “What makes you say I'm not being quiet?” He turned back to pick at the lock again. “I've broken out of plenty of prisons.”

"Well for one, my ears are ringing, and two..." Nastya got to her feet, exasperated, and combed a hand through tangled hair. “I had a brother, and,” She sat beside him and took the lockpick from his hand — much to his disappointment “You don't look like the war-crime committing type.”

“Oh, trust me, I'm not what I appear to be.”

“What are you doing?” The new voice sent the Doctor sprawling to the floor. “You better not be doing what I think you're doing...”

The Doctor hid the lock pick behind him and Nastya snatched it up before the newcomer could notice — she hid it in her coat pocket and smiled nervously. “No, definitely not.”

The newcomer, Nastya was quick to notice, was the desk officer from the day before. Lucia — she figured out after connecting the dots together. She'd come to fetch them.

Great.

Well, at least Nastya had her chance to run for once. Lucia could shoot at her for all she cared — revealing her lack of mortality was the last thing she could worry about in a moment such as this.

“Well, I suppose there's no time like the present.” The Doctor leaped to his feet and told Nastya to do the same. “Do whatever you want with us, I guess.”

“He hasn't come around, has he?” Lucia glanced warily over her shoulder. “You haven't seen him?”

“Leopold? Oh, no.” The Doctor shook his head and looked back to Nastya.

“Surprisingly,” Nastya muttered. “With all that noise you were making.”

“ _Shush_.”

“Both of you.” Lucia said bluntly as she worked at the lock. She muttered a satisfied note as the lock clicked and the door slid open just enough. Lucia pulled it open and waved them outside. “We really have to hurry before he gets back.”

Though she hurried them outside, she was the one to hesitate, falling behind them when they started back down the hall.

Nastya turned around, the first to notice the lack of speed in her newest acquaintance. The Doctor paused secondly, out of breath despite hardly having walked.

“I'm sorry, I just...” Lucia shivered, and whatever facade she had melted away into another — someone familiar. “I really don't like pretending with her.”

Nastya was the first to recognize, and nearly bit back a snarl. “I know who you are.”

The man immediately shushed her. “Not important. _Go_.”

He sprinted ahead of them down the hall. Nastya barely sent the Doctor a glance before she grabbed his hand and started dragging him behind her.

* * *

Relief at escaping wasn't long lasting. The man shoved them behind the entrance desk and quickly changed back into Lucia. Nastya curled up into what little space she had, and leaned her head against the desk's insides.

Footsteps rapidly approached — Nastya fought to suppress the hitch in her breath; even though the most minor sound would give both her and the Doctor away.

“Good morning; I trust you slept well?”

“Fine,” The owner of the footsteps was audibly recognizable as Leopold. “I'm going to look over papers.”

A pause. Nastya's breath hitched again.

“I trust you have gone to fetch them, Lucia?”

“I haven't yet, but I plan to soon.”

“Good...” Another pause, then a sigh. “I'll be in my office if you need me. Come and get me when you've fetched them, alright.”

Lucia did not reply audibly; Nastya imagined her nodding, judging from Leopold's further response.

“Good.”

Then he said nothing more and stomped away.

Lucia remained quiet for several more tense moments, her breath shuddering. Eventually, her form melted away and back to the man, who beckoned them out from under the desk.

“We need to hurry before he changes his mind.” He muttered; his voice shook.

Nastya dragged the Doctor out as she stood; he glanced uneasily toward the interrogation room door, but straightened his coat. “Well, I second that.”

The man was already at the door as the Doctor finished. Nastya, mentally echoing the Doctor's statement, grabbed the Doctor's hand again and started dragging him along.

They burst out of the station doors. Nastya yanked herself away from the two and dashed to the curb, now able to breathe. She managed a laugh before she abruptly silenced herself. It hadn't been shame that silenced her, of course — she was too happy for that.

 _Happy_? Relieved, probably. Happy was very improbable.

“Well,” The Doctor abruptly cut into her thoughts. “Glad that's over with... Can't really risk a change so soon after that last one. I'm not dying again. No, sir.”

“Doctor,” She laughed again, though she found herself more restrained then before. “Never mind...”

The man shook his head. “God, I hated being in there...” He glanced over his shoulder at the station. “Any more time as Lucia and it could have went to my head. And I'm not becoming like that bastard.”

“Well, if we don't want to get caught by 'that bastard', we should hurry up and get to the ship before he notices we're gone.” The smile the Doctor gave then Nastya she found quite morbid. “Come on,” He said — quite loudly — after a brief pause — “We're wasting the day away.”

Noon. Noon and nobody knew what the were doing and where they were. There were too many landmarks for Nastya to count — or to get a good grip on reality or wherever they were in the city. She at least had that vague thought — that 'the ship always remembers' — lingering and flashing in the back of her head.

“I suppose whatever you happen to be looking for isn't as simple as I think it is?” The man asked after they had passed their third — identical — stone building. He shook his head vigorously, looking uncomfortable and uneasy.

“...Terrible parking job.” Nastya muttered; she fell behind the Doctor and the man, scanning the surroundings to see whether there was nay way out of this place. She counted six different shops within sight, several people — four gave the group strange looks — of who were at least trying to mind their own business, a market stall near a bookshop, and a peculiar crow eyeing her from the top of an unrecognizable building.

They alleyways were tightly bound together, squeezed so tight that even the smallest creature couldn't find its way in.

No luck.

“You can't even remember where we parked, do you?”

“Um,” The Doctor paused and held his breath. He pulled anxiously at his collar then laughed. “Yeah, no I don't. I know that she's parked in an alleyway, but do you expect me to remember everything?”

Nastya bit her tongue to keep herself from replying; she kept a close eye on the crow that had been watching her to furthermore keep her from doing so. It crowed once, glanced at her, then flew away into the distance. Why that crow kept her attention for a particularly long time, she would never know, or wouldn't care, either. The thought was dismissed as the man spoke up.

“We really need to get out of here. Leopold doesn't feel all... human.”

“Neither do _you_.” The Doctor still glanced around the street as though to avoid the man's gaze. “You were whatever you called ' _Lucia_ ' hardly a minute ago.”

The man dismissed him and hurried ahead. Nastya sent the Doctor a questioning glare but hurried after the stranger.

* * *

“You have a lot to explain.”

In a less crowded part of the city, the three broke into a run. It had been the Doctor who paused once more to reprimand the man, and quite a loud reprimand at that.

“I am aware of that, but can we focus on the task at hand before suspecting that everyone is an alien?” The man spat back.

“I second that.” Nastya broke in just as the Doctor opened his mouth to protest more. When he glared at her, she stuck her tongue out at him, which at least shut him up. He didn't bother to retort other than a snort.

Quickly he directed the subject away from his fault in judgement. “I think I know where she is. Come on.”

* * *

This ' _knowing_ ', the feeling of false hope that had risen in her chest had now begun to diminish quite quickly. Now Nastya realized another reason why she'd never left the Aurora that often, or for long periods of time if any at all — she'd had to fall behind twice as her feet began to cramp up on the concrete sidewalk, setting the three of them back about ten minutes each time.

However, it wasn’t only Nastya who was uncomfortable with this long walk. The man, too, had paused every so often. Whether it be something major such as his feet — like Nastya — or something minor such as to brush his hair away, he didn’t look, to say the least, mentally all there.

“Wait,” The Doctor would snap the two out of their thoughts. “I think… I found her. I think. That’s not definite knowledge, either of you.”

 _Four times_. Four times his hypothesis was proved wrong. He’d shrug it off with some excuse or another - possibly a lack of oversight or some sense had overloaded, whatever that meant - and then he would move on, and both Nastya and the man would keep their ever-growing complaints increasingly silent.

It was the fifth attempt that Nastya decided to give a chance. He'd called out, much to the surprise of several passersby, and dove into the alleyway immediately to his right.

“ _ **Ha**_! Found her!” He poked out of the alleyway and smiled. “Come on; no time to waste. Places to go.”

“Is this... Normal?”

“Yes, I suppose —” The Doctor yanked her into the alleyway before she could finish. “Yes.” Nastya struggled against his grip. “It's normal.”

She freed herself and dragged the man into the alleyway as well.

* * *

“Alrighty then,” The Doctor stared proudly at his find, hands on his hips. “Did you miss me?”

“Does he..?” The man stared at the Doctor with unease.

“It's normal.”

“Ah,” He sniffed. “Not surprising.”

“Doctor?” Nastya kicked at the alleyway floor. “Shall we get going... Now that you've found the ship?”

“Give me one moment.” He walked up to the ship and appeared to inspect the doors — stalling, more than likely. “Have to check something really quick, and then we'll be off.”

“Well, if you're going to stall, the very least we can do is thank him.” Nastya indicated the man standing behind her. “He got us out of prison.”

“I use 'xe' and 'xir', actually.” The man laughed nervously. “If that helps.”

“Thank you... for correcting me.” Nastya nodded at xir once and stared back at the Doctor. “We can thank xir for getting us out of that prison, and — what the hell are you doing?”

He had somehow managed to climb onto the ship's rooftop, and had started to scout around like some dysfunctional hunter. He didn't reply — there was no sign that he had even heard her.

“What the hell are you doing?” She repeated loudly.

“Well, for one, I saw a very peculiar crow staring at me from the top of that building,” He pointed to the roof of the neighboring building. “So I decided I'd take a look. For another, it was a spur of the moment decision.”

“Are you aware of how childish you look?”

“Childish?” The Doctor shoved his hands in his coat pockets but didn't budge. “There's no point being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes, is there?”

“Childish? Acting childish would be acceptable on another occasion.,” Nastya indicated the person behind her. “But does it look like we have the _time_?”

“The crow looked important.”

“I don't care. _Get._ _ **Down**_.” She pointed at the ground — though annoyed, she slightly suppressed an amused chuckle. “We can worry about the crow later.”

The Doctor hopped down; his landing was less than graceful. He stumbled and winced, before gaining at least some of his equilibrium back. Quickly, the Doctor whirled around and unlocked the ship. When he fled inside, Nastya rolled her eyes and followed straight after.

* * *

“Right,” The Doctor dramatically shoved back past them and shut the doors. “You, my friend, have some explaining to do.”

“Alright. If you really want to know… yes, I’m not from Earth, as you have noticed possibly many times before. Right now, I’m Lukovich, and that’s all you need to know until I change again… at least.” Xe looked over xir shoulder, xir eyes stark with thinly veiled fear. “If… I’m safe… If this ship is safe.”

“You should be…” The Doctor tapped his chin. “Not even rabid lions can get through those doors, and, believe me, they’ve tried.”

Lukovich crossed his arms. Though xe relaxed, xe still bared xir teeth with unease. Xir form began to melt away into something almost human, but xir ears were feathered like birds’ wings, xir clothing a white, billowing robe. Xe didn't give the Doctor — nor Nastya — time to reply before xe spoke again.

“As I have said, I'm not from Earth. I'm an Unharis. A Timekeeper as one would call it.” Xe pointedly stared at the Doctor, who flinched. “If you want to be more technical, I'm a Racykian.”

Now,” Xe shivered, but showed no emotion. “For the love of the Gods, can we please get to the point?”

The Doctor giggled childishly, and flipped a switch on the console. The scanner opened to show the alleyway outside their door. “Now, Lukovich—”

“Just call me Luko, please.” Xe corrected and glanced back at the doors. “Please, don't... don't act childish,” Nastya smiled at this remark. “Let's just.. get the hell out of here.”

“Where?” The Doctor's demeanor changed in an instant.

“Theres a ship. Mid Earth Orbit by your terms.” Luko slid against the wall. A shiver passed through xir, and whatever human facade xe held melted away. “We were hanging somewhere over the mid Atlantic Sea last I checked.”

The Doctor nodded, but hesitated at the controls. He stared down for a moment, appearing to contemplate what had gone on in the moments previous.

Whatever it was, it was gone within an instant. He hurriedly messed around with switches and levers; the doors locked behind Luko when the Doctor flipped another switch — xe startled briefly; Nastya hurried to the nearest railing and urged Luko to do the same.

“Now, make sure — oh.” The Doctor startled for a brief moment. “Well, you're holding on. Make sure you stay that way until we're stable, and then Nastya, I'm leaving you in charge while I go check something.”

“ _What_?”

“Hold on,” He smiled as he circled the console. Once he pulled a lever, he immediately took off toward the hallway. Nastya swore loudly after him as the ship jerked and threw her to the floor.

Nastya managed to grab hold of the lower railing before the ship jerked again. Bile rose in her throat and immediately her hand flew to her mouth. She looked to Luko for xir reaction but xe had already risen to xir feet and was clinging to the outer railing.

 _God, even Brian could pilot better than this_. Nastya muttered to herself with a low snarl. _And he wasn't even a proper pilot._

The control room had fallen silent upon the Doctor's departure — other than the obvious hum and occasional turbulence. Nastya pulled herself upright and stared at the controls.

 _You're in charge_.

Nastya shook her head.

Hell, I already feel like I'm in charge all the time, with him and his... childish games. She paced toward and leaned over the controls, immediately going to work at studying the numbers. Everything appeared to be stable, at least for now, though she did have her doubts.

 _Doubts_...

Nastya double checked everything, from the coordinates, to the scanner, to every single fluid link, just to make sure it was working properly and they stayed on course. Everything was fine, of course, even after checking it several more times.

She gripped tightly onto a railing on the console's edge to keep herself from slumping over; briefly, she closed her eyes. This wasn't a thing to stress about. She'd been through countless situations worse than this. So what was different about this one?

Quiet. The quiet was what was wrong.

She didn't like the quiet — her ears always rung, a low hum that she could never shake off no matter how many times she pestered her mind to stop it.

Nastya never knew the cause of this ringing — it had never been around in her childhood, only after she'd woken up on the Aurora. Dismissively, she shoved it off as some after burned sound of a gunshot.

She opened her eyes and glanced up to Luko — she found xir messing with xir hair.

“Could you... could you talk, just...just for a minute?”

“Why, if I may ask?” Luko blinked and tilted xir head.

“Just... Don't question it...” Nastya closed her eyes; she leaned heavily against the controls and attempted to steady herself. “Just say anything. Hell, even talk to me if you're up to it.”

“But what if I have nothing to say?”

“Just mutter, then.”

The alien protested audibly, but for just a moment, before xe tapped xir foot on the ground, a ward that Nastya appreciated though it was not spoken word.

Finally, and after some time — thankfully — xe sighed.

“You... You lost someone, didn't you?”

Nastya stared up from the controls. “Mm?”

Luko tapped xir foot for another moment before xe crossed to the controls; xe adjusted a lever on the panel — something that both the Doctor and Nastya had missed — before xe spoke again. “You don't look like you're... all there.”

“Of... Of course I am.” Nastya smiled at xir and quickly composed herself, though the lie she said spat clearly through her teeth. “Couldn't you tell?”

Luko sent her a pointed glare, though eventually xe shook xir head, knowing that anger wasn't the best response go a situation such as this. “Let me repeat... You're not all in this as you pretend to be. You didn't look all in this the moment you walked into the station, no matter how well you hid it.”

“I'm not hiding anything.” She shook her head.

“Well,” Luko muttered. “I guess I won't push it, then.” Sighing, xe backed away from the controls. Xir features melted into the identity known as Lucia. Xe knew that Nastya wasn't going to fall for the change, or maybe xe didn't — Nastya couldn't tell from the look on Lucia's face.

“Aurora...” She finally said — quietly — after a brief, tense silence. “She's who I lost.”

Nastya flicked the scanner switch. “But I would prefer not to dwell on it.”

“You... were close... then?”

“Quite.” Nastya muttered. “But she's gone, and I have to move on somehow.” She flipped another switch and leaned heavily back over the console.

Luko nodded, stunned to silence. Xe trekked back over to the back wall and sat down, closing xir eyes as the Doctor re-entered the control room.

“Small fault in the, um...” He clicked his tongue. “What was it? Doesn't matter; we'll be getting there, either way.” A pause. “Are you alright, Nastya?”

She stared back up at the man. “Hmm?”

“I was asking if you were alright.”

She nodded — not entirely the truth, but an acceptable answer.

“Good. Now,” He fixed his scarf with a smile. “Now that everything is taken care of, we should be there shortly.”

The control room fell silent. Tension filled the air along with unspoken words.

“I seriously didn’t expect you to drive like a reckless ass.” Nastya winced once she gained the confidence to speak again; she backed away from the console. She didn't regret that retort.

“Oi, I do not.” The Doctor protested, yanking on the ends of his scarf with indignation. He pulled it over his face and fumed. Nastya walked over to him and pulled the scarf back down to get a good look at his face. His face was a bright red, much to her amusement.

“Am I still in charge, dear Doctor?”

He pulled his scarf back over his face. “ _No_.”

He muttered. “We should be here.”

The Doctor pulled his scarf back down and hurried to the controls to look at the scanner. His entire expression to that of a giddy smile when he saw where they were. Whatever he attempted to say came out in childish giggles.

“I take it we're here?” Luko — Lucia — butted in impatiently. “My ship? Mid Atlantic? Mid Earth Orbit?”

The Doctor didn't reply but closed the scanner.

“I'm going to take that as a yes.”

“You should.” Nastya sighed. Uneasily, she adjusted her coat when she watched the Doctor at the controls. She knew what he was making sure that everything was working properly — as she had been doing moments earlier. But — again, like before — she still had her doubts, though the Doctor had obviously been piloting this ship longer than he claimed to, and longer than he gave the impression of.

“I'm going to go look outside,” Luko brushed past the two; xir steps faltered as xe drew close to the door. It was only a moment after xe opened the doors that ze quickly shut them again, laughing quite nervously. “Um, slight thing... Slight, um... Problem...”

“What... Do I have to _guess_?” The Doctor crossed his arms and rolled his eyes — Luko smiled at him awkwardly, but nodded slowly. The man, though obviously disappointed from what Nastya saw, still retained some glee in his eyes as he muttered a string of curses in an unrecognizable language. Luko cursed back at him.

“Can you guys just… give me one moment?” Luko changed back into xir natural form and peeked out of the doors. “ _Privec rebyati_!” Nastya could detect an uneasy elation in xir voice. Xe flinched when a voice spat back in an equally contrasting tone but remained gleeful as ever. “ _Dav bcho snach bedemi_ …”

“ _Kot tham jest-angh_?” The voice demanded.

Luko shook xir head, sputtering, “ _Eian-ktone_.” Xe shut the doors and faced the two. “Um, I really don't think you're going to like me for this, but —”

“ _Wykhodig_!” The outside voice demanded, knocking heavily on the doors. Nastya judgmentally glared at the Doctor at this.

He caved in easily.

“Alright,” He shoved past them and opened the doors. “We didn't come here for nothing.”

Nastya followed after him with an angered sigh.

* * *

“Well, we're sorry to have joined you at a very unpleasant time, but I think —”

The guards — or at least whoever equivalent this race had of them — immediately trained their guns upon all three of them.

“Oh,” The Doctor smiled brightly despite the situation. “Well, there's no use for violence, I would say.”

Guns. Violence.

Nastya sighed.

That wasn't surprising.

Immediately, Luko threw up xir hands, smiling uneasily. “ _Nia sttoglyaj_.” Xe pleaded — xe spoke in that same odd language. “ _Tha-oni nan-druzolmi_.”

When they didn't react, the plea grew more apparent — Luko's breath shook. It was clear that xe was trying not to break. “ _Mas-ttoile_?”

The lead guard waved a claw-like hand to dismiss the others. “ _Daze_...” They faltered. “ _Thavsz polura agalysku_?”

“ _Thad_...”

“Good,” The guard showed no clear emotion in their response. “Now, that that's cleared up,” They trained their gaze heavily on Luko. “The Leader wants to meet with you.”

“I got the memo.” Luko rolled xir eyes, which earned a jab from one of the guards. Xe glared at them; they shrunk under xir glare, before uttering a word that Nastya didn't recognize. “Dear Gods.”

* * *

The ships halls were winding and crowded, but Nastya found many things fascinating about it. She could feel the hum of the ship beneath her feet— she could feel the way it seemed to whisper to her. There was something different about this ship than there had been with the Doctor's own ship, or even the Aurora's. This one had a more ethereal sentience, for lack of a better phrase. Only she could understand it this well.

“Luko.” Someone stopped them in the halls.

Nastya could get a better understanding later.

“I see you've brought... guests... with you.” 'Guests' had been spoken with a particular annoyance. The owner of the voice — a dark, hooded, owl-like figure — had approached the small group while Nastya had been lost in her thoughts. “I thought we had an agreement.”

Luko pushed ahead of the others. Xe knelt before the newcomer and assumed a form similar to theirs; a white gown flowed out from all around xir, giving xir a ghostly appearance. “I apologize — sincerely. Their presence was, to be frank, unexpected, Naryl.”

“I see...” Naryl sighed after a moment. “Well, then. As long as they don't harm anything —”

“They won't.”

Naryl, particularly taken aback by Luko, sighed again, but drew it out. “As I was saying, as long as they don't hurt anything, then I suppose they can stay... for awhile.” The Leader faltered for a moment — Nastya caught them glancing in her direction. “You must come to the control room, the three of you. We have quite a bit to discuss.”

* * *

Only the group, the guards, and the Naryl were the ones to enter the control room, and it seemed rightfully so. A control room was about the extent of it — unspeakably plain, even though Nastya found even that beautiful to some degree — and only a large console, a screen, and a chair adorned the front end. Everything else was a sheer, metal white.

Nastya stood near the doors until Naryl beckoned them over to the controls. Ze held out a claw toward the Doctor first. Surprised — though probably not, as Nastya couldn't tell — he took hir clawed hand and shook it excitedly.

“I’m the Doctor.” He smiled widely. “Pleased to meet you.”

The Leader only offered a weak smile in return, letting go of the Doctor's hand. Ze stepped back, looking quite uneasy, and crossed hir arms. “Right.” Ze said. “How about you sit down...” Ze gestured to an empty chair near the console. “Over there... Doctor.”

Ze pointed a fair distance from the chair, then indicating Nastya. “You can stand there.”

After the two had done as ze had asked, Naryl padded over the controls and closed hir eyes. A sigh escaped from hir before ze looked up at the vast screen before hir. Ze then murmured something quick before fully drawing themselves upright.

“So, Luko,” Naryl turned to the other as the control doors shut. “Shall you present your findings since you're here so... prematurely?”

“Yes, um....” Luko drew up a hood over xir face, visibly shrinking within xir robes. “I think I found it, Naryl.”

“Found it?”

“Y-yes,” Luko stammered. “It's been staying under a facade, Leader. I've been watching it for some time, and I —”

“Are you for sure it was Macria?”

 _Macria_?

Luko nodded.

“Certain?”

Another nod.

“Leader, might I ask,” The Doctor bent forward in his chair. “I'm curious as to what the Macria are and why one in particular is so important to you.”

All gazes turned upon him. Naryl turned back toward the screen.

“The Macria. Think of them as the black sheep of our planet — Racyke.” The Leader gestured at the screen; the image flickered to show a crow-like figure. “Pur history believes that this species was an early rebel faction of the Unharis that preferred the more primitive side of things, the more... practical.”

“But,” Ze moved across the console — waving Nastya away from her place — and pressed hir palm to a scanner. “There is one who we've been searching for, for quite some time.”

The image flickered on the screen before eventually settling on an image on another crow-like figure; this one had a familiar hostility in its eyes that made even Nastya uneasy. It didn't take her mind a minute to figure out why that hostility was so familiar.

 _Leopold_.

“I do take you encountered it back on Earth, then?” Naryl nearly smirked — ze must've seen the flicker of familiarity. “Ah, well... I always knew Lirhom would find its place somewhere. Not surprising, honestly. A time so rampant with fear; nobody would notice another sneaking into its ranks.”

“How long do you suppose it's been here?”

“We suppose about two, maybe three hundred years.” Naryl crossed hir arms. “It's really hard to say — the Macria can change just as well as the Unharis, and I wouldn't be all that surprised if it abused that power.”

“Could I ask one question?”

“I wouldn't mind that, no.”

“If you knew it was down there, on Earth, why didn't you stop it? So many people suffering at its hand, and you just watch.”

“Yes, perhaps, we may merely watch, dear Doctor, but for the purpose of others suffering, of course. We only interfere when things are... out of our control.” Naryl gestured at the two. “I hope you understand why we sent Luko down there so recently.”

“Because we weren't supposed to show up, and Leopold — Lirhom wasn't supposed to capture us.” The Doctor muttered, deadpan. Nastya sent him a pointed glare but he only shrugged.

“You do know it's your fault that we did.” She retorted. “And your fault we were captured.”

“ _Oi_ , it was not!”

“Was too,” Nastya muttered. “Anyway, what you're saying is that that the station was a ship, and that Leo — Lirhom, was —”

“A fugitive.” Naryl smiled a bit, but it faded quickly. “Killed many Unharis, and, if I recall correctly, some of its own kind as well. I'm guessing whatever form it took when it fled to Earth went to its head.”

The Doctor sent Nastya a glance, but went back to sulking in his chair when she looked at him. “I'll say...”

He never finished the thought.

Or... at least Nastya didn't think he did.

She'd become aware of a low hum in the ship, drowning out any external source d she may have heard; then it become a sparking, tingling agony that ran through her fingers. Nastya drew her arms close to her, willing both the noise and the pain away. She became aware of a chill that wasn't there before, that wasn't the cold she normally felt. This felt... this felt like... this felt like death. It felt as though she had become like static and nothing more.

She knew what it was — she knew this all-too-familiar feeling.

Stumbling, Nastya hurried over to where the Doctor sat and shoved him away. She sat down heavily in the chair with her head in her hands. The static of her mind increased until, gradually, she was eased out of it by a muffled voice.

“Nastya? _Nastya_ ,” The Doctor was the owner of that voice — Nastya was surprised he wasn't annoyed that he'd been shoved out of his chair. “Nastya, what's wrong?”

She looked up at him but her eyes didn't — couldn't — focus. “This ship.” The words came out slurred but comprehensible. “There's something wrong with her.”

“Ship,” The Doctor either turned away from her or hesitated. He cleared his throat as though to gather his thoughts, then knelt before her — Nastya's eyes focused but for just a moment; she could see his expression laced with concern. “Let me feel your head; you don't look well.”

Nastya leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. She felt the back of the Doctor's hand against her forehead for a brief moment, before his footsteps retreated away, most likely toward the Leader.

“You're... not doing alright, clearly.” He muttered — his tone was dark. “Temperature is... unusually cold. Deathly cold.”

From a distance, Nastya heard Naryl mutter in worry, “ _Sveitha_...”

That was ship's name. _Sveitha_. There was something wrong with the Sveitha, and it was passing the repercussions onto her, which unfortunately included the deathly cold.

Nastya knew this cold in all its familiarity. She hated this; she curled up in the chair and shivered, waiting for the feeling to pass quickly. But she knew that she could not shake off death, no matter how peaceful or quick it was.

“Well,” The Doctor lowered his tone and backed slowly away as Nastya shivered again.. “Well, um... She said that something's wrong with the ship. How... How would one know that there's something wrong with the ship, specifically Nastya, unless... Unless... Nastya, do you mind me asking a personal question?”

“Depends... Depends on how personal said question is.” She replied, trying to keep herself from shivering. She leaned forward in the chair and tried to focus on the Doctor's words.

“If I may ask, where are you from?”

Nastya processed the words, and after a moment, she managed to gasp out a barely audible reply. “Cyberia... I... I'm Cyberian.”

“Cyberian...” The Doctor scratched the back of his head — or at least Nastya thought he had. “ _Cyberian_.”

It took a few more words before his mind seemed to click. “ _ **Ah**_! Makes sense now.”

“And it didn't make sense the... The last several times I told you... Told you about your own ship?” She fell back in the chair. Desperately and silently she wished for the man to shut up. When she knew that he wasn't listening, she managed to mutter a string of several curses.

“See?” He turned around to proclaim to the main crew — Nastya cursed at him again. “That's how she knows. She _empathizes_ with the ship.”

 _That's one way to make a publicity stunt out of yourself._ She bit her tongue to keep herself from saying that aloud.

Nastya stumbled out of the chair towards the console. Though she could barely stand, she managed to catch herself upon a small railing. The hum of the ship jittered loudly in her ears, followed by a sickening creak that sent Nastya's heart into her throat.

 _There must be some way... Get to... The heart of the problem._ She closed her eyes. She found her brain scrambled, muddled. A foreign code that not even she could decipher.

Still somehow, it clicked.

The engine room. The heart of the ship.

The heart of the problem. That's where she needed to go.

The ship gave a sudden jolt and so did she. Nastya bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

 _Come on, I know you can hang on for a bit longer._ She nodded, mostly to herself. _Just for... A bit longer._

“Engine room.” Using the controls as a balance, Nastya turned back to face the crew. “Is there a way to get to the engine room?”

“You're not going to...?” Naryl tensed, holding hir claws to hir chest. Internal conflict played about on hir face, before finally, ze shook hir head. “The shortest way is through a vent behind your own ship back down in the hallway, but seeing as you...”

“One near-death experience isn't going to stop me.”

“Nastya, this is quite inadvisable.” The Doctor added. “Please, just sit down. We can find another way to—”

“Shut up, I'm literally _fucking_ dying.” Nastya stumbled back to the controls.

She didn't make it. Her legs gave out under her and Nastya collapsed, cursing, to the floor.

 _Not yet._ Not dying yet.

“God,” The Doctor forced down a laugh, though Nastya could tell what it was before it left his mouth. “God, you should have listened.”

Shaking, Nastya raised her head, her teeth bared in a very obvious snarl. For a brief second, however, she allowed herself to laugh before she succumbed to a spasm of weakness. “Well then. You've won, Doctor. Find another chance.”

Both the Doctor and Naryl fought with themselves. Naryl retained hir facade of importance after a brief fight, but the Doctor broke down easily, and, looking mainly frustrated with himself, ran over to Nastya. She didn't hesitate in taking the hand he held out.

“Well,” He looked away from her to Naryl. “You've made your point... Nastya.”

Nastya smiled briefly at this.

“Let's get you to the vents, and I'll... Come find you later.”

“Yeah,” Nastya stared at the floor; her vision began to blur again. “Come and find me...”

The Doctor nodded at Naryl — twice, as though doing one for Nastya. “We best be going.”

“Good luck...” Naryl murmured.

And, helplessly, Nastya allowed herself to be carried into the hall, without looking back at the distressed leader.

* * *

Treks through vents were always slow when one was dying, but, they were always a better place to go through. Nobody could watch her die, and she could rest for a while in peace.

_Not now._

The ship... was suffering. The last thing anyone needed, was a dying ship, especially this far into space, this... Maddening depth of space.

She'd collapsed twice on that trek — once just inches before the engine room. Her fingers barely scraped the grate; she couldn't find the strength to push it open.

So she kicked it open. She kicked it open and fell to the engine room floor. Nastya immediately reached out but found no railing she could hold on to.

_Not now._

_I'm not fucking helpless._

_I'm not._ _**Fucking** _ _. Helpless._

_I escaped from a goddamn prison._

She grabbed onto the vent door and steadied it.

_This goddamned war criminal... can kiss my ass for all it cares._

She forced herself to her feet and tossed aside the vent door. Her eyes quickly adjusted — as much as she could manage — to the darkness of the engine room.

One couldn't see much — even a trained eye couldn't see through this darkness — except for a little light coming from a console.

The heart of the problem. Where she needed to stop whatever was plaguing this ship, before anyone died along with her.

“I’m going to be careful… I'm... I'm not going to let you die...” She slowly and gently stumbled for the engine room’s controls. “I… I know you’re hurting. I can feel it, too. I’m going… to help you.”

Nastya pressed her palm onto the console and closed her eyes. Slowly, she let out a breath. “You can trust me. I won't hurt you.”

The reaction was instant. Cold. _**Empty**_.

The ringing returned. Everything ached. Everything hurt. The dull agony that courses through her blood was no longer so — it was unbearable. Nastya spat any curses she knew under her breath.

 _Kill switch. You can't even let her die on her own terms..._ She silently swore. _You can't let_ anyone _die on their own terms, can you?_

 _Dying_. Dying. Nastya hated dying. She hated the quiet and she hated dying. It was quite laughable, really. Dying and the quiet.

She did laugh, but only for a moment before the pain spiked again. Every ounce of breath left rushed out of her lungs; whatever strength she had left was gone, but she managed to keep herself standing. Standing, for a little while longer, until she knew that the Sveitha would no longer suffer.

 _Please_.

She continued to plead even as the Sveitha's agonized mental alarms faded into distant memory, then, she too, fell silent; for a brief moment, Nastya lingered on the edge of darkness. She stumbled but didn't open her eyes.

 _It's alright_ , A distant voice reassured her. _You can rest now._

Exhausted, Nastya returned to consciousness. Breathing heavily, she now found it even more of a struggle to stay upright — she was leaning against the console for support.

However, she did smile, triumphant in her task.

She let go. Her hand slipped from the controls, as she collapsed to the floor of the engine room, giving in to dizzying blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Racykian language isn't as complicated as one would think. For this story, I took Russian, Polish, and Gaelic, and mashed the spellings together.
> 
> Translations
> 
> Privec rebyati. Dav bcho snach bedemi! - Hello, guys. Long time no see!  
> Kot tham jest-angh?/Who’s in there?  
> Eian-ktone/Nobody  
> Wykhodig!/Come out!  
> Nia sttoglyaj. Tha-oni nan-druzolmi./Lower your guns. They're friends  
> Mas-ttoile?/Please?  
> Daze.../I see; alright  
> Thavsz polura agalysku?/You speak English/Common?  
> Thad./Yes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a stowaway is so goddamn inconveniencing
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> Cw/tw: Death, mentions of war, passing mention of suicide.

She didn't process the moments where she continually hovered between consciousness and unconsciousness, though she heard voices, blurred by her fever and exhaustion. She'd long since given up trying to recognize them.

Then there was cold, cold again. It wasn't a familiar cold, as she'd been used to for so long; it was metallic. A metal table. Medical. It could only be medical. _Med bay?_

Nastya hated it. No matter the circumstances, she hated it.

Gasping, she threw herself awake. The blanket over her fell to the floor with an unusually loud thud. Nastya found no strength to flinch at the noise — her limbs were still stiff from death.

Where was she?

Metal table. She tapped it and it gave a small clang.

White walls. White blur — where were her glasses?

Blanket. She wanted — no, _needed_ — the blanket.

Nastya fell back on the bed. Again her earlier question repeated in her mind — Where were her glasses? Where was she?

She took the earlier clues and attempted to piece them together, but her brain was still sluggish from her death. The virus, she thought, must have contributed to something as well, for she knew that her brain would have fully been up to function by now.

Nastya turned her head and her eyes adjusted to the brightness. What lay aside her was a side table — also metal. She reached out to verify and it gave the same metal clang as the bed. Her fingers also met the bare edges of a metal chart — _her_ chart.

Med bay. The Sveitha's med bay. She drew in a sharp breath and held it there, staring at the table as her eyes continued to focus.

The chart wasn't the only thing on the side table; they'd left her glasses there, too, just barely out of reach. She could grab them, but there came a risk of falling off the bed, a risk that wasn't an option.

So Nastya lay there with her arm outstretched helplessly toward the side table, fumbling helplessly for her glasses.

It was several more minutes before her arm grew tired and gave up, falling to the side of the bed. Nastya stared quite wistfully at the side table and groaned; she shivered not even a moment later. _Cold_. Why was she cold?

She sat up in bed, pulling at her collar. It was that familiar weight that was missing from around her shoulders. Her coat.

They'd taken her coat, her only source of warmth aside from the ship. She didn't know the exact reason why they'd done so, but she was... _really_ cold.

She drew her arms close to her, shivering. Didn't this ship have some sort of heating — or pity? Or was the Unharis' sense of temperature different than hers — which was, unfortunately, and painfully obvious.

She hated the obvious, especially now.

Nastya groaned. Now everything was choosing to return to her in such painful clarity. Coming here, running into Luko, being chased by Lirhom, prison, escape, coming here, getting sick, crawling through the vents, taking the virus...

She shivered again, but it wasn't from the cold.

 _Dying_.

This was why she hated dying. Everything came to her in stark and blatant reality, a video recording of her own life leading up to death. It always happened and it was always painful.

She lay back down again and curled into a tight ball, hoping to warm herself though that enough was not — she'd learned multiple times before back when she was with the crew. It had become a thing of learned helplessness, a last resort of sorts, an instinct. Nastya knew never to worry about it. Every time it had happened on board, the Aurora would immediately worry and avert all heating to her location.

_But the Aurora isn't here anymore, is she? No. No, she isn't. You agreed to let go of her and her to let go of you._

She understood now, and she wanted to linger, but a door behind her back slid open and was followed by light, agile footsteps.

“I trust you're doing better now?” The voice matched the footsteps — light and agile. A snowy white owllike figure crossed around the medical table and looked down upon Nastya impatiently.

“If cold and awake is better, then yes.” Nastya glared back at them with an equal impatience.

The figure nodded curtly. They said nothing as they paced over to a monitor some distance away.

 _Medic_.  
They wore a red belt around their waist, and the cuffs of their uniform were of equal color. “Well, I'm glad you're awake.”

The exasperated medic padded back over to her and picked up a chart from the side table. Nastya glanced at her glasses and struggled for her eyes to adjust. She straightened herself out upon the bed and sat up again.

“Your friend was quite worried about you.” They glanced at her and dark owllike eyes flickered. “Afraid you died.”

“Yeah... I get that quite a lot.” Nastya muttered, shaking herself to rid the stiffness away. Thankfully the medic didn't hear her remark, tapping away at their chart.  
“What's your name?” She eventually interrupted once the medic had set the chart down. They glanced at her and blinked again, but didn't reply until they padded to a monitor.

“Kehra. Ey and em, if you're wondering.” Ey tapped away again at the monitor and quickly changed the subject. “You seem to be alright now. I'll go fetch —”

“Where's my coat?”

“What?”

“ _My coat_. I see my glasses but they took my coat.”

Kehra shrugged. “I trust Naryl would know.” Ey sighed a terribly long sigh and headed back to the side table. Once ey handed Nastya her glasses, ey picked the chart back up and went to write on it again.

Both were disturbed by a knock at the med-bay door. Kehra dropped the chart in exasperation, though ey was strangely calm when ey welcomed the newcomer. “Ah, you're back.”

Nastya peeked over eir shoulder.

 _Naryl_.

“Can I come in?” Ze met Nastya's gaze over Kehra's shoulder.

“Yes.” Kehra tensed up. “Hopefully, you have her coat because she's been...” Ey glanced backward. “Complaining.”

Nastya flipped the medic off while they weren't looking. Naryl noticed this and smiled a bit, but quickly deadpanned hir face when it was quite clear that the medic was still watching.

“Just let me in, Kehra.”

“Fine.” Kehra finally gave in and went back to eir monitor.

Naryl walked in immediately after, holding Nastya's coat — folded into a neat square — in hir arms. “Your friend back there was... a bit concerned.” Ze looked the coat over. “Your coat caught on something while he carried you the way here, and —.”

“It ripped again.”

“Again?”

“Don't ask.” Nastya held out her hand. “I just need the coat.”

Naryl stared at the coat hardly a moment longer before ze padded over and set the coat upon Nastya's lap. When ze retreated, ze was silent. Kehra was the only one to speak, asking if ey should leave before being given a firm dismissal from Naryl.

“You can leave when I say you can leave, Kehra.” Ze snapped. Kehra nearly dropped the chart ey were holding and yelped.

“ _By the goddess above_ , you don't need to be that snappy.”

“Then just go back to whatever you were doing.”

“Fine,” Kehra muttered a curse — something Nastya would rather not have translated — then looked down at eir chart and began scrolling through it again. For once, and to Nastya's relief, ey were silent for longer than a minute.

Taking that silence as an opportunity, and when she felt comfortable enough without Naryl's unusually authoritative gaze lingering with questions, Nastya slipped her coat on over her shoulders. That weight, again, was a relief; the warmth dashed away the cold of the Unharis ship and Nastya shivered to make sure that the cold had been completely driven away.

“Now, I do trust that you're doing alright?” Naryl waved Kehra away and hissed when ey didn't immediately obey.

“Should be... Unless I'm dreaming.”

Naryl laughed only briefly. “Doesn't feel like a dream.”

Nastya slid off the bed. “Then I should be alright.” She smiled but it vanished upon her next comment. “Dying always leaves me rattled, for lack of a better word.”

She sighed, and the room fell quiet, aside from the occasional beeping of the monitor. Naryl went to open hir mouth, but shook her head and stay quiet, only to open it again, then decide once more that speaking was a futile thing.

That said, Nastya went to adjusting her coat, smoothing out every little fault she found within it, straightening out all the wrinkles — no matter how large or small.  
It was when she found no faults that Naryl decided to speak again.

“Sorry if this reads to be too personal of a question, but...” The Leader hesitated on hir words. “Are you... Are you sure you're alright?”

“Mm?” Nastya adjusted her sleeve cuffs. “Oh, yeah I'll be fine. Why do you ask?”

“You still look a tad... unwell,” Naryl said. “And I mean that most sincerely.”

“I'm sure I'll be fine. I always give off that impression.” Nastya tugged at her coat sleeves and gave a satisfied grunt when the wrinkles came away and disappeared.

“Ah, well it was just —”

Nastya blinked at hir.

“Never mind,” Naryl shook hir head. Ze waved hir feathered hand to dismiss the subject. “But at least we did figure out who sabotaged the Sveitha.”

“Should I guess or is that already obvious?” Nastya crossed her arms.

“Lirhom,” Naryl answered for her. “Somehow, it managed to make it onto the Sveitha.” Ze finally dismissed Kehra and shut the door. “Caught it on one of the cameras sneaking out of the engine room. Figured almost immediately after is when you started feeling the effects of whatever it put in —”

“Kill switch.”

“What?”

“That fucker put a kill switch in the programming.” Nastya adjusted her coat though she knew there was no further fixing needed. “If I'd waited longer to notice, Sveitha would have gone —”

“Kaput.”

“Unfortunately.” She said.

“How did you stop it, then?” Naryl appeared to shudder a bit.

“She — the Sveitha... I took away the virus to save her. Simple as that. Killed me in the process, though.” She twirled her hand about in the air before resting it back on the bed.

“Killed you...” Naryl echoed and stared at the floor. Hir features softened and the barest hint of a smile appeared on hir face. “Gods, if it had been me, she would have told me to shut up and take care of it herself — she kinda did, actually — but to let a stranger trust her — she always did trust strangers too much.” Ze was hesitant for a moment. “I suppose that's what got her killed in the first place.”

“Was she —”

“An Unharis?” Naryl crossed hir arms and nodded. “Yeah. Whatever those humans down there call a doctor. She worked on this very ship for hundreds of years, taking in whoever was sick or injured. In her spare time — whatever time she had while not taking care of others — she'd tinker around; it wasn't much, but she had this odd affinity for machines either way.

“You know, I suppose that helped her in the long run, seeing as she's here now... Safe, as you may say.”

“What... What happened...” Nastya grew solemn. “To her?”

“Well... She had a connection to the ship somehow — as you do. Nobody ever understood why — not even me. Not until that started.

“Once that — the war — started between us and the Macria, the ship began to fall out of repair, much to Sveitha’s despair. She loved this ship — we’d basically both grown up on it and she thought of it as a close friend… So we both stayed and worked together to make sure that both victims and this ship alike were kept healthy, in a sense.

“You can guess that Lirhom came soon after, mortally wounded after crashing into the dock of the ship. It was… a terrible decision to let it in, in hindsight — as it was a Macria and therefore our enemy — but Sveitha begged to take care of it, and naturally, trusting her, I let her. That was a mistake.”

Nastya stared at her feet; she could feel the hum of the Sveitha stutter and grow uneasy. She leaned against the medical table and silently urged the Leader to go on.

“I left her… for just a moment. Just one moment.” Naryl bared hir teeth. “And when I came back..”

“It'd killed her.” Nastya's voice was equally distressed.

“It did.” Naryl remained deadpan though hir voice grew strained. “It stood over her body, and it gloated. And then... It was gone. Vanished.

“I guess I was just desperate to keep her with me. Selfish. The only other engineer at the time was our husband, but even ey didn't know what to do. I guess... I guess I had to do it myself. Somehow. Nobody questioned me for locking myself in the control room for days on end as I figured out what to do. I don't know how I did it in the end — it's all a blur now — but I did it. I got to bury her body on some lone planet before even that was taken over by the Macria — she did get some peace in the end.”

Then Naryl was silent. The creaking of the Sveitha began to relax, replaced by her usual low, tinny hum. Nastya found herself — oddly — relaxing as well, though she felt pity for the Leader. The move was out of desperation; Naryl simply loved Sveitha to the point of beyond death. Sveitha had not changed, and she knew how painful it was, though her original form had been long lost to time and war.

It was at this point that Nastya felt a prick of jealousy. Aurora had never had a human form. She felt pain in so many different ways that weren't human and Nastya felt it with her — and she knew how terrifyingly human that was... _Empathy_.

“I suppose this has happened to you as well?” Naryl regained hir leader-like authority nearly immediately, breaking into Nastya's thoughts. “Or, I trust... something similar?”

“Yeah,” Though admittedly she didn't want to talk about it, Nastya supposed that was likely best. Leaving it on her chest was just as terrible as lying. “Believe me, I'm still trying to get over it, over her. It isn't the greatest thing to hide.”

“Grief isn't easy.” Naryl hesitated on those words for just a moment. Even more hung in the air— both of them fought against saying them, possibly for different reasons, but they found that the battle wasn't worth having, even if that battle was difficult.

Nastya fought a different — and brief — mental battle, but lost in the end.

“Aurora.” She murmured. “I had to leave her behind for multiple reasons, which, now in hindsight, seems quite stupid in my opinion. I mean... ” Nastya slowed her breathing but retained her panic. “She's not dead — she's still there. She's just not... Herself.”

“And you couldn't face that?”

Nastya, after some hesitation, drew out a quiet, “No...”

Naryl nodded; hir voice was also quiet. “Ah...”

“God, I miss everything... It's just so... Quiet. Usually, there's music and your typical —”

“Did you... play music?” The Leader wondered audibly. Though ze was more advanced in years — at least in Unharis terms — Nastya spotted a childish curiosity in hir eyes.

“Well, yes. I —”

Someone burst into the med bay. They nearly toppled over before leaning themselves against the door frame — even then they still had a struggle staying upright.

“Luko,” Naryl identified xir quicker. “There's business for your interruption, I hope?”

“Doctor... Engine room.” Xe sputtered — Naryl ordered xir to calm down before xe could speak again. “I think... I think he's found something.”

* * *

Nastya found herself faltering in the halls. Once, she had stopped to lean against a hallway wall to prevent herself from stumbling. Nobody took notice or thought it was strange, and even Nastya thought it was the still-lingering effects of her death.

Walking slower than the others was possibly her only option if that was truly the case. It wasn't unusual for her, and she could make excuses. She could lie as well — she had many millennia of experience in that expertise. She could lie and get away with it to almost everyone, except for maybe the Sveitha. She couldn't escape those particular things.

 _You should listen to yourself..._ That familiar, calm voice answered her previous suspicions. The Sveitha only briefly started Nastya, but she kept walking and tried to ignore the ship's protests.

 _It isn't death that's making you drag your feet_ , Распутина. Sveitha's voice was as harsh as the humming in Nastya's ears — not the ringing but just as annoying. _And it's not just you if you realized that already._

 _Sveitha... It hasn't left the ship... It hasn't left. It's still here._ She dragged her thoughts out and mentally rebuked herself though she knew that she would have figured this out sooner, without this... hindrance.

Nastya stopped, looking toward the ceiling. Creaking from footsteps above caught her attention — too sharp to be any Unharis; all the Unharis wore boots if not some sort of foot covering, in what Nastya surmised was to prevent scratches upon the floors from their claws.

“It's right above us. It's following us.” She whispered. “Heading to the... Naryl, what's above us?”

“Mainly electrical.”

“Shit.” Nastya burst into a run. “I know what it's doing.”

“Where are going?” Luko called after her.

“Just come to the control room,” Without looking back, Nastya dragged herself onward. The tapping claws of the intruder quickened, seeing its trouble and trying to escape it. “We can stop it from there.”

* * *

“Alright.”  
Naryl hurried ahead of the two others toward the controls. Luko stuck beside hir and left Nastya behind at the entrance.

She insisted that she was fine, though she collapsed, breathless, onto the engine room floor just as the doors shut. A headache that hadn't been there before now threatened to pound behind her ears and it thrummed deeply into her skull.

Running while sick was taxing. Nastya laughed — she knew another reason she had spent most of her time on the Aurora. She didn't have to move but an inch when sickness threatened to succumb.

_God, this was most definitely a fair trade-off._

Her sarcastic moment of relief passed within an instant when she caught sight of the Doctor standing from the controls. Judging from the way he stood there, he hadn't left this place since he'd left Nastya in the med bay.

Their gazes met for but a moment before the Doctor shook his head and muttered several words that Nastya couldn't catch and would rather not translate.

“Doors on the electrical floor have been shut. Should be cornered until it finds out about the vents.

“Which won't be long,” The Doctor drew out the last word in a whistle. “But for now, we talk. What do we know and what can we surmise?”

Nastya stood up against the doors; she was shaking and cold, which even the warmth of her coat couldn't drive away. “Well, the biggest question is how the _hell_ did it get onto the Sveitha without being noticed?”

She glared at the Doctor in particular as she asked the question. He feigned — or at least poorly attempted to — some form of innocence; he twirled his scarf around and whistled though the silence urged him to reply.

“Well,” Luko butt in, clearing xir throat. “You did mention that peculiar crow awhile back. Macrias are crows or... harbingers if you want to put it that lightly.”

“Could have ridden atop the ship.” The Doctor shook his head and sniffed. “Nah, no way it could have survived the vortex unless it was quite stubborn.”

Nastya bit back a rude remark and stumbled toward the controls.

“After the kill switch, I would assume... it put another... Another virus... in the ship.”

And good Lord it made her feel sick. She steadied her breath to ease her nausea and leaned against the controls for support. “It's likely some minor malware to buy it time, so it's not as strong as the last one, but it's still so goddamn inconveniencing in either case.” She grunted, turning to stare at Naryl. “If you said that the Macria were so primitive, then why has this one hacked into Sveitha's systems twice. With a kill switch, I should add, for the first time in its life?”

“It's been on Earth for several hundred years.” Nylan realized. “It's been learning.”

“Yet the first virus on Earth won't be written for... What was the year down there?” The Doctor joined the two at the controls.

“You told me it was 1949.” Unable to stand any longer, Nastya stumbled to the chair.

“Nineteen-Forty- Nine... So, the first virus won't be written for another... Twenty or so years... First documented one for another... Thirty? Remind me if I'm wrong, but...”

“ _Would you get to the point_?” Nastya spat.

“It's more advanced than we thought it was.” The Doctor replaced Nastya at the controls. “Advanced enough to know how to write and set off a kill switch virus twenty years before the first one is written on Earth.”

“And it's —”

_It's found the vents._

“Well,” Nastya rose from the chair. “We best be going, then.”

She glared at the Doctor again as he attempted to protest. “And I'm well enough, thank you.”

“Best of luck.” Luko smiled, mainly in reassurance at Nastya. “You both better come back — alive.”

“Can't make any promises.” Nastya chuckled at her irony. Her glance toward the Doctor was met with a particularly rude glare and so she sneered at him. “But we will come back.”

“Will we?” The Doctor retorted in question; he was silenced from any further audible thought by another sneer from Nastya.

“We will.” She retrained her steps from stomping when she padded over to him. “I will kill you if you die.”

Naryl opened the door with the controls. Ze waved them off dismissively, then slumped over the controls with hir back turned toward them. Nastya took that as her sign and dragged the Doctor into the hallway.

* * *

Along the way, Nastya cautiously took note of every vent opening, every door, any small crack that Lirhom potentially could get through. She was cautious of every creak and groan that the ship gave, uneasy until the Sveitha said some reassurance that it was the age of the physical ship itself — and the lingering effects of the virus — rather than the scrambling around of an alien crow.

Of course, she should have known that, but she knew that she was nervous about literally everything. Her thoughts were muddled. Nastya never liked it when her thoughts were muddled. She could never think then — think properly, assess the situation properly, nothing.

_God, please shut up._

_**Creak** _ _._

The Doctor heard it too. He froze. None of them spoke until they could verify that it was not a natural creak but the scrambling of Lirhom. Something slid like a rat in the wall then crashed heavily into a vent opening a fair distance ahead of Nastya.

All was quiet. Nastya held her breath and over the ringing in her ears, she could hear a string of curses sputtered by a painstakingly familiar voice.

Lirhom kicked the door open and slid out quietly, into what Nastya assumed it thought was an empty hall. It glanced frantically around for a quick second before its dark eyes trained upon the two. Instantly it went for its gun and pulled it out to fire a warning shot in the air. The bullet flew through a metal plate in the ceiling, and mentally Nastya winced.

_Sorry…_ _Svietha_ _._

_I try my best…_ The ship murmured back with a hint of irony.

“Do we really have to go through this again..?” Lirhom muttered loudly. “Of course, I expected you to have a little decency.” It trained the gun upon the Doctor, who instinctively threw his hands up in the air. “She should have stayed dead.”

It fired another shot into the wall and Nastya’s flinch became visible.

“It's going to take more than a few gunshots to destroy an entire ship.” Nastya retorted, her voice spiking in fear. “I don't think you have enough bullets, Lirhom.”

It checked the gun as though to verify her statements, then pointed its gun at her. “Just enough,” It sneered. The gun fired a final time. The Doctor ran and pulled Nastya out of the way as the last bullet went sailing too close to her head. She stumbled to the floor and pointedly stared at him.

Until he slumped to the floor as well.

Angrily, Nastya watched as Lirhom scrambled away to its escape inside an air vent.

“ _God_ , you're such an idiot.”

She glanced at the Doctor, who was holding his left shoulder and grimacing. “I hope you're learning a lesson here.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine.” He angrily nursed his shoulder, answering the unspoken question that hung in the air. “I've been shot plenty of times and lived.”

“Well then, if that's not any problem, I would like to point out that you're bleeding.”

“I am?” The Doctor removed his hand from his shoulder; his hand was stained a worrying crimson. Childlike concern crossed his face, as though he'd never been shot before and was processing it. “Oh, well shit. I am.”

He stumbled to his feet, waving his bloodied hand to dismiss any further words that hung in the air. “But, we needn't worry. I'll be fine. Nothing that simple stitches won't fix.”

Nastya chanced a glance at the air vent. “I don't think we should be losing this much time with idle chit chat.”

“Yes...” The Doctor followed her gaze — his breath was faint and wheezy. “You go on ahead. I think I'll... _I'll go back_ —”

“To the med bay, I hope.”

“Med bay. Oh, no. I'll be perfectly fine.” He said starkly. With that, he gave a sharp hiss of pain and swayed on his feet.

“ ** _Doctor_**.”

“Yes, fine. Medbay.” He waved her off. “Just go.”

She didn't protest. There no use bickering when Lirhom had yet to do more damage.

So she left the Doctor sitting on the floor with his gaze staring off into distant space. She did glance behind her on her short walk to the vent, though the Doctor appeared unchanged even when she dared look behind her to check on him. Once, he did wave her off to dismiss her, insisting he was completely fine and would be well, and that she should go after Lirhom before it did any more damage.

The vent did take some prying open — it had been shut quite tightly when Lirhom decided to escape — but she found a small opening, a gap between the vent cover and the wall. She tore away the vent covering, tossed it aside, and stood before the now-open air vent.

“Do you trust me?” 

The Doctor — who'd long since grown pale — dizzily nodded. “You better catch it, or we're all doomed to hell... or the vacuum of space if you want to be technical.”

“You get to the med bay first,” Nastya snapped back. “Or we're stuck here... for good.”

“Mm...” The Doctor waved at her dismissively. “Just go, Nastya. I'll keep my promise.” He laughed briefly. “If I die, you can kill me, as you said.”

Nastya, though hesitant, heaved a long sigh. She opened her mouth to speak, to protest, but decided against it; she crawled into the vent.

In silence, she waited — over the dull ringing in her ears, she heard the Doctor get to his feet, and stumble slowly down the hall.

He better be keeping his promise, was her last lingering thought as she clambered deeper into the vents.The vents of the Sveitha weren't as tight as Nastya has initially expected. They allowed her to kneel at full height, and maneuver easily. It was, unfortunately, creaky, but Nastya supposed that every ship had its faults, including the Sveitha.

She dismissed a thought as it crept up on her. The thing was trivial. She needn't dwell on it.

What she did need to dwell on was wherever the hell Lirhom was. Its scrabbling had stopped several minutes earlier; Nastya could only tell where it was by a small tap it would give on the metal every few seconds or so.

Taunting her. It knew she had followed after it, and it had chosen to taunt her. One weakness of this taunting, however, was that it was willingly giving its position away, tapping away a signal that she could pinpoint and triangulate.

Around the corner a short distance ahead; about fifteen feet or so. Nastya crept ahead and the tapping stopped. It was then followed by another scrambling toward her, around the right corner. Their gazes met for a moment after it emerged.

It paused for a moment too long. Nastya stole her chance and shot forward. It spat and pulled out its gun.

She paused at the right time, as a bullet went sailing past her cheek, straight into the metal wall.

_Poor aim._

The Sveitha creaked as though in protest; Nastya had to pause briefly to compose herself.

“You think this is _funny_ , don't you?”

She stared directly down the barrel of the gun Lirhom clutched desperately within its claws. It trembled as she stared directly at it; she had no fear of it anymore.

“You think seeing this ship in pain is funny to you?” Nastya laughed. “Do you... do you think some virus alone is going to bring down an entire ship..?”

“I brought down my own kind. Virtually everyone, they told you, didn't they? Now, a ship... a ship is nothing.” It snarled, though it lowered the gun away from Nastya's head. “You wouldn't know. You really wouldn't know.”

“I know more than you think I do.” She laughed coldly. “ _Сука_.”

She smiled when fear crossed its face — it didn't even try to hide it. “Cyberian,” It snarled, quickly scrambling backward. “I knew l recognized it.” It laughed, a harsh caw akin to its appearance's sake. “Oh, boy. I suspected in that interrogation room but I wasn't sure. Oh...” It replayed its thoughts clearly upon its face. “Oh, dear Gods, you're a Cyberian.”

“ _Then I guess you should run_.”

Lirhom, seeing its danger, began to scrabble away. It dropped the gun it’d been holding and tossed it aside, frantically crawling around a vent corner.

Nastya immediately bolted after it, scrambling on her knees. It yelped and its form quickly melted away into a smaller figure — a black cat who turned around to spit at her before it bolted away.

“Unfair advantage, you bastard.” Nastya sputtered; she leaped forward to grab for the cat. Its hissing laughter at her repeated failure only added to the frustration.  
“God, I'm going to kill you when I catch you.”

“You'll have to catch me first.” It laughed again. “The control room's right down the vent from where I'm standing.” It came out of hiding and sat before Nastya; its tail curled slyly over soft paws. “Would you like to chance me, Nastya?”

“I told you; 'I know more than you think I do'.”

“I know.”

“Aren't you afraid of Cyberians?”

“I should be.” It purred for a moment. “I'm sure I should be. After all, I've killed several before, so I wasn't surprised when they sent _you_ after me.”

“I came upon my own volition.” Nastya leaped forward to catch it but it nobly hopped out of the way.

“I'm not done talking, my dear.”

“Well, I _am_.” Nastya shot toward it. Surprised, it quickly switched back into its natural form and fled through the vents, unusually nimble for someone of its stature.

When it turned back into its cat form again, Nastya could see the vent door straight ahead of them.

And Lirhom had a clearer advantage.

* * *

They burst out of the vents, into the control room. Lirhom tried to bolt, but Nastya grabbed onto its foot and tripped it. It snarled in terror and lashed its wings out at her. When it stood to go for its holster — appearing to not realize that its gun was gone — Nastya crawled fully out of the vents to trip it again.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” it reached for its gun again and was quite surprised to find it gone. Much to Nastya's catharsis, it shuddered in barely hidden rage, and several of its feathers dropped to the floor. “You... really are so protective of this _goddamn_ ship. Should have killed you in that interrogation room when I had the _fucking_ chance.”

“Good.” Nastya glared up at him.

“ _Good_? God, even that Sveitha was afraid of death. You just brush it off like a minor inconvenience.”

She stood and smiled coldly. “You'd be surprised.”

“You,” It snarled. “You're the reason why my kill switch didn't work.”

“Try again next time, Lirhom. Or try harder.”

“Or don't try at all.”

Nastya knew who was standing behind them, even before she recognized the voice.

 _Luko_.

Xe was pointing a gun at it; xir hands were trembling but xe was confident in xir words. “Stay right there. Don't move... or I... I'll shoot!”

Lirhom turned around, its focus now on the young Unharis. It harshly laughed at xir.

“You really wouldn’t shoot me, would you?” It sneered. A flash of hopelessness went through Luko, and it laughed more. “Oh, I know you won’t…”

Luko hissed; xe pulled the trigger of the gun, and Lirhom fell to its knees, spitting with pain. Several curses escaped from its mouth, but it laughed through them.  
Nastya circled to stand beside Luko, unfazed by it, nor the gunshot. It sneered at her too and glared at her with dark eyes.

“You're going to kill me too, aren't you?” It lowered its head in brief defeat. “Well, then, I guess I deserve it, don't I?”

Luko dropped the gun and kicked it away. “No, we're not like you.” Xe glances to Nastya. She barely acknowledges xir, but knows. “Not entirely, anyway.”

Nastya kept careful watch over it when Luko backed up to the controls. It slumped over onto the floor and sighed, but said nothing to protest.

“Naryl... We've got it.”

* * *

Guards came soon after; they put Lirhom in restraints and set it before Naryl, who stood before the controls with hir hand pressed to a scanner. Nastya stood beside hir and watched, unsteady. She leaned against the controls to steady herself.

“I hope you understand that this is no small deal.” Naryl tapped at the code buttons but refused to look at Lirhom. “You do, I hope, as I said, understand the damage you've done. Not just to me or Sveitha, but the rest of the Unharis, to innocent humans, or our allies.”

Ze glanced at Nastya at the last word.

Lirhom looked up to hir with glaring dark eyes but said nothing.

“Are you going to speak, Macria, or have you said enough?”

It huffed.

“Are you _sure_?”

It huffed again.

“Well, then. If you have nothing to say, you can go.” She waved to the guards. “Take it away.”

Three guards came from the doors; two grabbed Lirhom by the shoulders while one ordered them to take it to a holding cell for the time being. It only glared at Nastya as it was taken away.

“Virus is gone,” Naryl said quietly after the doors had shut. “Found some way to get rid of while you two were... clambering about in the vents.”

“Did Sveitha approve of you helping this time?”

“She was... a little reluctant, but I'm sure she'll be fine now.” Ze looked back at the controls. “Now,” ze glanced to the doors where Lirhom had been dragged out as ze said this. “We have to give it a trial. I've been waiting way too long for one.”

“Wasn't even born when it fled.” Luko stood, eyes fixed upon the door. “Guess there has to be some catharsis now.”

Nastya stared at the floor. She chose not to reply to the alien's words and sighed. “Guess so.”

* * *

Nastya stood aside as Naryl called several guards to the control room. Ze lifted a pedestal from the center of the floor and stood behind it as they entered, carrying Lirhom.

It still did not protest but stared at the Leader with the same glaring, dark eyes. When Naryl opened hir mouth to speak, it shattered the air with a loud curse that, frankly, Nastya would not rather have translated.

“Oh, so you finally decide to say something, don't you?”

“ _Dhedioka_...” It muttered quite audibly. Naryl tensed; Nastya swore she thought she saw a shiver run through hir. “What exactly can I say if you've caught me, Leader? You've kept your darling wife alive. I suppose that's payment enough, from me at least.”

“Yes, but you did kill her first.”

“I shall provide no rebuttal to that.”

“Then you are prepared for whatever fate I give you?” Naryl tilted her head and narrowed hir eyes. Nastya looks to Lirhom, who shrugs helplessly.

“I guess so, but trust me, my dear, don't mind the screaming.”

Naryl appeared not to hear — or rather seemed to pretend to ignore its words. Ze gathered hirself with poise and mental silence as ze spoke out the alien's sentence.

“Well, then. Lirhom, I, Naryl of the Unharis from the planet of Rackye, sentence you to forever linger in the prisons of the Unharis people, for the murder of Sveitha Eyldana, and numerous war crimes committed against both the Unharis and the Macria of Rackye.” Ze waved to the guards standing beside the lone Macria, and once again, they took it and placed it in cuffs. Lirhom spat a single curse as it was dragged away through the ship's doors, and nothing more as they shut with a loud thud.

All of Naryl's poise melted away quickly afterward. Ze kneeled away from the pedestal — which sunk back into the floor — and joined Luko beside the controls. Hir eyes closed and ze sighed, mouthing something which Nastya read as, _“You're safe now.”_

 _We don't have to worry any longer_ , Svietha murmured. _It'll be taken to the Main Ship, where it will be judged formally. It'll... be gone. We all... Can breathe again._  
“You can breathe again,” Nastya said quietly. “And, I guess I'll have to get going.”

Another moment passed before the question on her mind was uttered. “Did... my _friend_... get to the med bay, like he said he would?”

“Yeah.” Luko pointed to the door. “Went to check on him and he was getting stitched up.”

“Thanks,” She hurried to the door. “See you both.”

Visibly hesitant, Naryl bowed. Luko bowed, then stared at the controls. Nastya listened to their quiet conversation before she disappeared from the room.

* * *

Her way to the med bay was met with a strange, yet achingly familiar sight.

Lining the halls were prison cells, dozens of them, not unlike the one she'd taken her leave from back on earth a few days before.

It was... comforting, somehow.

It was never strange that another one of her odd comforts were found within the prison hallway.

All the cells was empty — perhaps they had never been filled. Sveitha had mentioned along Nastya's walk that she had always been against taking prisoners during the war, and they didn't come across many worthy of the sort if any people at all even after wartime.

Nastya could understand. So many times she'd been trapped behind those bars many times, most times not on her own accord, and most times with her crew. Someone always had to wait behind, a backup to come break them out in their most dire needs.

Quite a laughable thing.

 _I guess a backup became quite a useless thing._ Nastya laughed silently to herself. _If you had me, Ivy, or_ _Raph_ _, I'm sure you'd get out just fine._

 _Members of this crew you mentioned, yes?_ Sveitha broke the silence with her question.

 _Yeah. I'd ramble on, but... I suppose it doesn't matter_.

Sveitha was silent, but understanding.

Nastya brushed her fingers against each cells' bars, both thinking much of it for a while. The sound of the small metallic sound and its varying notes was like a song to her. She quite... liked it in a way.

“So you've come to gloat?”

Lirhom stared at her when she'd paused for just a single moment.

She didn't say anything, though she surveyed it quickly.

It was sulking again. Its wings were crossed over its knees; it stared angrily at Nastya but made no move to protest or even move at _all_. It looked... helpless.

Nastya wanted to pity it, but nothing urged her to. She felt nothing toward Lirhom, especially after the incident at the station, the moments she suffered from the kill switch virus, nor when they were both trapped within the air vents. All that Nastya could summon herself to feel was utterly nauseated.

She didn't hesitate a moment longer. Quickly, she backed away from the bars — Lirhom called out for her but she ignored it — and hurried away down the corridor, abandoning the prison hall and drowning out the now-distressed cries of the lone, imprisoned Macria.

* * *

Nastya found the med bay quickly. It served as a great distraction from her previous thoughts — which she didn't want to dwell on but couldn't shove away no matter how much she tried.

The Doctor was sitting upon the table, looking quite giddy with glee. His scarf tassels were tangled about in his hands - he was entranced by that and nothing more; he didn’t notice Nastya even as she shut the door loudly and startled a young Unharis medic.

No sign of the Doctor’s previous emotion outwardly showed — he didn't even seem aware of anything, for that matter.

“You should be fine.” Kehra placed what looked to be a chart upon a side table. “Like you said; ' _nothing that simple stitches won't fix_ ', though I would suggest you don't go after war criminals.”

“I can't help it. After all, I'm something of one myself.”

Kehra didn't find that funny, taking the chart from the side table and heading to a monitor on the other side of the room.

“They _never_ like my humor.” The Doctor stared at his lap.

“Good morning,” Nastya said, and he startled quite visibly, once again startling the young Unharis medic in the room. “I trust you're doing well?”

“Yes, and I say,” He leaped from the table with a gleeful bounce in his step — he scared the poor medic once again, the same one that Nastya had only moments previous. “Shall we get going?”

“Are you in that much of a hurry?” Nastya stifled a laugh. The Doctor flashed a wide smile back at her but didn't say anything, and Nastya couldn't gather any answer from that alone.

“Well, we can't exactly keep the ship waiting; she wasn't too happy about that whole prison stunt.”

Nastya smiled pointedly at him, and she swore she heard the younger medic snickering.

“Well, everything aside, we caught it.”

“Lirhom?”

Nastya nodded.

“Was it — mind my phrasing — was it difficult?”

“No.” The lie slipped out. “Not at all. Just captured it by cornering it in the control room. Went to check in on it when I was coming here. Sulking really, but... in a way, I guess it deserved it.”

Silent, the Doctor stared at the floor. He rested his chin in a hand; all expression left his face, and Nastya wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. “I really do feel like... I should say something to avoid the embarrassment, shouldn't I?”

“I dunno...” She faltered when the words died in her brain. “I do think we should meet Naryl back in the control room.”

“Agreed.”

He sprung back to his feet immediately after. “If we should be going. Kehra, Urilius, I'm glad I found myself in good company, but I shall be taking my leave now.”

“Good riddance,” Kehra muttered. Luckily the Doctor didn't appear to have heard, and both he and Nastya took their leave from the med bay soon afterward.

* * *

“I suppose you needed me?” The Doctor casually strolled into the control room with Nastya close behind. “I heard from my friend here —”

“ _Acquaintance_ —”

“Anyway, I heard you've caught it?”

“Our only prisoner,” Naryl's demeanor did not suggest even a hint of the regret found in hir tone. “I guess we all can rest now.”

“I'm sure Earth won't miss its officer.” The Doctor laughed back humorlessly.

“What I'm glad that I won't be taking orders from it anymore.” Luko butted in. Xir laugh was genuine, unlike the Doctor's. “I really fooled it there.”

Luko continued to chuckle under xir breath. “It really thought I was with it, taking orders from it, but no... it really should have seen my betrayal coming. Hmph, aliens. They can be so narrow-minded.”

Xe glanced at the others and laughed nervously. “Don't answer that. Seriously, just don't.”

Luko gathered xirself together and shivered visibly. “You don't suppose I could get back to Earth anytime soon?” Xe said. “I hate to say this, but I think I preferred that environment to this one.”

Naryl shrugged. “I hope you don't mind being stuck there for a few more years.”

“An entire lifetime would be... fantastic.” Luko smiled and walked back to where the Doctor had parked the ship — near the control room doors — and closed the door behind xir.

After a moment, Naryl nodded — but only slightly at the two who remained. “We were glad to have your company aboard, even if it was quite...” The words hung in the air as the Leader searched for them. “Unconventional.”

Nastya looked toward the Doctor, who was visibly quite pleased with himself. He smiled broadly and only slightly nodded. “It was nothing. I should give her the credit.” He turned his smile upon Nastya. “She saved the ship and caught Lirhom. I just sat around in the med bay and made sure things didn't go —”

“To hell?”

“Exactly.” The Doctor slapped his palms together and slightly bowed. “Now, I should find it best for us both to be on our way. You coming, Nastya?”

Nastya only nodded. She took one last glance around the control room and smiled.

_Thank you, Sveitha._

The hum of the ship rang in her ears for just a moment, until a new voice gently replied, _I will be here if you need me._

She saw the barest glimpse of a new Unharis standing close to Naryl, and she was watching Nastya with a kind smile upon her face.

_Sveitha._

_Nastya. I wish you good luck._

* * *

The trip back to that alleyway was silent and relatively uneventful. Luko changed back from xir Unharis form to the man Nastya had run into at the very beginning. The Doctor was relatively unsurprised at this, if he had seen it at all, and pulled the lever to land.

“America, 1949. Home... Sweet... Red Scare home.” He laughed at Luko, who was very visibly not amused. When Nastya looked to the scanner she found that they'd landed the same alleyway from which they'd come from.

After a brief moment's pause, the Doctor added, “I'm glad you're enjoying your life so far.”

“I manage, I guess,” Xe said. “I am just a _lowly dog-walker_ , aren't I?”

“Just make sure you don't run into any more people,” Nastya commented from the back of the control room. “And don't lose any more dogs.”

They shared a brief laugh and some more joking around, both the Doctor and Nastya saw the Unharis out to the alleyway.

“You know, ” The Doctor said with a glance back to the control room. “You could come with us if Earth turns out to be a bit too boring for you.”

“In any context, a trip or two would sound nice, but,” Xe shrugged after a moment. “I got to get back to business.” Xe chuckled. “Got all those dogs to watch.”

Whatever crossed the Doctor's face was gone in an instant. He sniffed almost disapprovingly, then disappeared into the ship without another word, his scarf billowing behind him.

“Don't mind him.” Nastya glared into the control room. “He's usually like this.”

“ _ **Am not**_!” The Doctor distantly protested.

Luko stepped out of the alleyway, offering Nastya a wave and a smile. She waved back and sighed.

“See you both later, I guess. I'll be stuck here if you need me.”

“I'll keep a mental note,” Nastya replied. “Just in case.”

Luko nodded, then xe disappeared quickly down the street.

“Are you coming?” The Doctor called. “Or are you considering staying with xir?”

“I'm coming... Don't you worry.”

She wasn't even sure if he'd heard her reply; she didn't care either way.

Longingly, she stared back out at the city street. Everything seemed normal, as though nothing had happened, as though no time had passed at all. Yet, she could remember the whole ordeal so clearly that it could have been a lucid dream. It wasn't great, but it'd happened. She'd been somewhere other than the cold, maddening depths of space — she could blame the Doctor for that.

_Perhaps I can trust the Doctor, bumbling fool and all._

Nastya rolled her eyes and shook her head. A stifled laugh escaped from her mouth.

She turned to the control room and shut the door, leaving the outside behind her.

 _Perhaps_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the Time Keepers Arc!  
> God this took so long, but I'd say it was worth it.  
> Either way, hope you guys enjoyed and I'll see you in two weeks!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody knows where that violin came from
> 
> \------
> 
> Cw/tw: Passing mention of death and murder

There on the hill of the impossible room, she stood, quietly playing her violin. She followed every note as perfect as the ship sang. Slowly, steadily she went on, drawing out each note if she liked it, kept time where it was needed.

She had to make sure everything was perfect with that, right down to the most minuscule note. She would catch herself with every mistake she made — she recovered quite quickly and the ship would pause her singing to give her a form of praise. She would smile briefly at that, and this ship would sing a happier tune for her to play along with.

She always liked this. Someone to sing along with her when she played — this gave her some feeling of nostalgia, when she would play along with her crew at gigs they'd planned, whether they ended in chaos or not; even with the Aurora...

She missed her voice — how dearly she kept the memory with her; how they would spend the nights together while the crew was out, and they would just make music. Oh, how those were the best days. She knew she could never replace them, even with today's events.

Today, well... Thing is, it had been a long, eventful day, but the greatest way, Nastya found, was to end it was with music.

* * *

Music was always good in any sense, but how had she been able to play such music? Nastya herself could always remember the times where she'd play music — it had always been a viola which she'd practiced with back in her childhood home, a little old thing given to her by her mother which, of course, had been given to get her out of her hair.

But she'd loved the thing anyway, and would practice in whatever spare time she'd had before she was dragged away for yet another lesson from her tutor. In those times, she would hide it in her room, waiting for her to find it again.

She didn't know how that viola then found itself on the Aurora. The night she'd been taken in, she had been hiding in a corner, in a room across the palace from her room, where she had left the thing upon her bed. She never recalled being taken back across the palace, even when she'd blacked out — they'd had just headed to the Aurora, where Nastya remembered waking up and finding her viola there.

But this particular instrument, this one violin in question?

Well, nobody had known where it had come from at first — or who it had come from. Not even the Doctor — who spoke nothing but the truth, at least quite lately — did not know.

It had been left in the grass of what Nastya had claimed as her room, just lying there; it hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep only minutes before. The Doctor couldn't have done it — he'd been off in the library for several hours and wouldn't return to the control room until he 'found answers', for whatever reason that meant.

“I'm going to the library.” Was his declaration. Nothing short of a proclamation. “I'll be back. Maybe.”

That wouldn't be for a while. He always took his opportunities to escape into the library, not that Nastya cared much, of course, but she liked it when he talked. It drove the ringing in her ears away — they became a forgotten memory until he disappeared again.

Meanwhile, she'd stayed behind, sitting against the wall, with nothing but the distant ringing in her ears and the hum of the ship to break the silence. For a while, that was her only company, and she slept there.

Eventually, she did grow bored of sleeping, got up, and tossed her coat aside. She went about tinkering with the controls for some time, checking and fixing the fluid links. The fluid links, in particular, fascinated her to no end, in which she had found that each of them needed just a minute amount of mercury for the entire ship to function.

There was one in particular that caught her eye — _K7_. She carefully removed it and held it close to inspect it. The levels of this one appeared to be lower than the others, though, curiously, the ship still seemed to be quite functional without it. She got up from the floor and held it tightly within her hand.

 _I guess I can figure out a way to... fix this link without any drastic measures._ Certainly without the Doctor since he's excused himself to the library as... he now often does.

She stood up and gave the console a gentle pat. “I'll be back. Just gotta find that bumbling idiot of a friend.”

She tossed the fluid link in the air, caught it quickly, and examined it for a moment before she turned for the hallway.

* * *

It was about halfway down the hallway that her task was quickly forgotten, or rather, dismissed from the list of higher priorities. Nastya turned to the impossible room, the room she had claimed as ‘hers’, and disappeared inside.

* * *

Atop the hill, she sat and listened to the wind, to the maddening chaos. It was quieter than last time, but it still spoke to her in some way.

_Are you up for talking today, or are you still mad about that “prison stunt” from a few months back?_

The wind abruptly dropped.

 _Oh, are you_? Nastya laughed humorlessly. _Mind you, it wasn't my fault. Blame your idiot of a friend for breaking into... what was it... a police station?_

The wind picked up again and nearly threw her to the ground; only when she protested did it stop.

_Alright, fine. I've done it too._

The wind dropped to a gentle breeze, blowing so quietly that it barely disturbed the grass below her.

_But, I've always come back, and I guess that's good enough. I swear to God, though... How many times I've died. I've killed my brother plenty of times, too, for that._

The wind picked up slightly once again — concern, was it?

 _I think I'm being too humbled by your friend there. Regretting deaths that I feel were deserved. You really shouldn't go wishing death on a person either way, even if they..._ She hissed through her teeth, feeling sick at her own words. _Really, really deserve it._

The wind circled her head, tangled her hair.

 _I've killed plenty of people — not much considering the rest of the crew's trigger happy personalities — but I have_. Nastya messed with the cuffs of her shirt. _It's... Its not something to be proud of, is it?_

She lingered there, waiting for the wind to reply, but it blew steadily now and showed no signs of replying.

_God, I'm talking to the wind. You really don't trust me yet, do you?_

Still, the wind blew, still without a reply. Nastya shook her head and shrugged, adding a comment of disdain under her breath, before she lay down in the grass.  
The dizzy haze of sleep soon claimed her.

* * *

It was a sudden, biting freeze that woke her. She groaned, protesting at her rather rude awakening, and waved her hand away, silently begging for the warmth to return.

Something told her to wake up, to obey what her mind was telling her. Something else was telling her to wake up, to stay awake, begging as though she'd been near death and not dragged from sleep.

Nastya reached her hands out to stretch, but her fingers brushed against something that most definitely was not grass.

She sat up and stared at what her hand had brushed against, and recognized it almost instantly as...a violin?

She picked it up from the ground and glanced to the door.

It was wide open, but no footsteps were trailing to nor from the doorway, plus, the Doctor was sulking in his lonely corner of the library.

_You didn't leave it here, did you?_

The wind did not pick up nor slow. It wasn't an acceptable reply, but Nastya chose to take it anyway. She picked up the violin and stood in the grass.

“I _know_ you're the one who did it.” Nastya held her voice back to keep from scolding the ship. “Do you think the Doctor's one to lie?”

She was silent as she quickly processed what she'd said. “Don't answer that.”

What she debated on doing next fought like a constant battle in her mind. The Doctor could wait a bit, especially if he was still lurking about in the library. She smiled a bit and sat back in the grass.

_I should see if this works._

* * *

“Doctor.” Nastya had strode back into the control room but had lingered at the doorway for some time. Her attempt to get his attention was fairly futile, of course, as he stood at the controls, looking over what appeared to be a large manual.

For a moment she regretted tinkering around, but she dashed it away with a quick laugh — that noise, unfortunately, did not grab the Doctor's attention either.

He'd been at the controls — obviously — for some time, though Nastya did find other books strewn about the place, many of them open and face down. She circled the console and set the violin down upon the Doctor's chair, before going by the railing and leaning over it, tapping the violin's bow in her hand.

That was quickly proven boring as she still hadn't gotten the man's attention, and so she crossed back over and set the bow beside the violin.

He only noticed when she'd started picking up the books and stacking them near the railing.

“Oh,” He shouted and Nastya restrained herself from jumping. “You're awake! Finally, shall we get going? I have this trip planned, and I —”

“Is your ship known for leaving stuff about?”

“Well, I wouldn't be surprised if she got it from me, as I — wait what kind of objects?”

Nastya dropped the remainder of the books carelessly on the floor and retrieved the violin from the chair. “Whole musical instruments, perhaps?”

“Whole musical — what?” He turned to face her. “N-no, she's never done that.”

“Then what exception is there to this?”

“Dunno,” The Doctor shrugged and turned back to the console. “Perhaps she likes you.”

“She... She does _not_.” Nastya bit her tongue to keep herself from raising her voice, though it was already obvious that her tone had risen several octaves. “If you hadn't gotten the message before, she is _not_ talking to me.”

“Doesn't mean that she doesn't like you, though.”

“It means nothing like that.” Protesting was useless against an idiot who was too clueless to understand. “Feel like it's personal that she went through my head and found out I knew how to play it if that's what she did.”

“Wait,” The Doctor turned back around. “You know how to play that thing?”

 _It_ couldn't _have been him who'd left it._

“First of all, it's a _violin_ , not a ' _thing_ ',” She indicated it as she held it up. “And yes, I know how to play it. Did you think I stayed in the palace all day for nothing?”

“Self-taught?”

“I would say so.” She examined it for a bit. “Or... I did have a few chances to play it around the... Aurora. Nothing... _Quite that impressive_.” She let the lie slip through her teeth, even if the Doctor would notice and correct her.

But he didn't and shrugged over the console. “Now do you believe that she left it for you?”

“What? Like she just... left it behind out of some kind, _grand_ gesture?” She set the violin down on the floor beside her and watched it carefully. “And you claiming so because she ' _likes me_ '?”

“Perhaps...” The Doctor's eyes narrowed in thought. “God, she's made it so obvious, and you still can't understand it.”

“I believe I understand everything quite perfectly, _**Doctor**_.” Nastya laughed slightly, hiding her nervosity behind blunt words. “You need to tell your ship to stop... leaving things around...”

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest, but groaned, as his point had already been answered. He picked up his scarf from the floor and twirled it around thought.

“But you have been playing that violin, no?”

“Are you saying that like it's a bad thing?”

“No, no... But I haven't been listening in if that's what you're trying to get at.”

“So then the ship's listening.” She knew already, but she had to make sure.

“Perhaps she has,” The Doctor shrugged. “She can be that nosey.”

“That wouldn't be surprising.” She muttered, feeling self-conscious — a rare occurrence.

The Doctor stretched; he paced quickly over to a chair near the door — a thing that he must have dragged in while Nastya was in that impossible room — and sat down heavily in it. He pulled his scarf over his face and huffed quite loudly. Then he mumbled something incomprehensible, got up from the chair, and turned for the hallway.

“Don't tell me you're going to the library again.”

He flashed her a toothy grin and disappeared.

 _God, I hate him_. Nastya sent a glance to the violin. She leaned against the railing, drawing out a sigh. _He's going to get in trouble some day or another. I won't regret it when he does, and that prison stunt doesn't count._

Nastya raised her head to look at the ceiling. There wasn't much to it, and it was quite boring to stare for long at the antiquated details.

And thus, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest.

* * *

Only the occasional creaks and groans of the calm ship were there to disturb her; her sleep was light and vigilant.

Eventually, she grew tired of this light, restless sleep, and rose from the railing. Something fell out of her hand and clinked onto the floor.

 _Fluid link_. She'd been so caught up in figuring out other things, refilling that had been moved down the list of priorities.

Nastya slid across the floor to look beneath the console. When she removed the panel, she spotted just what she had suspected — K7's slot was missing, waiting for its link to return to its rightful place. She looked at the now full fluid link and slid it back, then replaced the cover.

She'd then taken a glance back at the hallway door, unsurprised to see that the door was still closed. The Doctor was taking his sweet time in the library — again — and would not, as usual, be back for some time.

So they were stranded in space until he did so... And she had grown bored.

Nastya got to her feet, murmuring to nobody in particular, “I'm going to my room.”

* * *

Time did not matter within the impossible room, especially with music. All was lost here as she played, carried away on the wind with the melody she played, though discarded much more quickly.

She knew who was listening to her. The ship always listened to her, but she didn’t know if the ship liked her music, or preferred it to the Doctor’s constant chatter and idiocy. Would it matter?

Likely not at all.

She held her breath at that thought, but continued to play, keeping time when she could though her sense of the matter was nonexistent. She thought too hard about it once, and her music came to a grinding halt, before she realized what she was doing and took up her tune again, a soft melody she’d known since her childhood — several thousands of years. It was short, a warm-up one might have considered it, but she'd played it so many times over in the span of a few short hours that it had become more actual playing than a warm-up.

When she drew out the last note, Nastya let out a long breath, the breath she'd been holding the entire time she'd played.

The note was carried away upon the wind, carried away until it would eventually die some far distance away. Nastya stood there, listening before she lifted the violin from her shoulder.

“I don't suppose you were listening,” She sighed and slumped over in the grass, the violin in her lap. “Though... The tune was annoying after being played over and over.”

The wind that had carried her music away picked up and swirled around her.

“It's something to be proud of.” She murmured. “I mean, I would guess it is after... several millennia of practice.”

The wind picked her back up to her feet. Though surprised that the ship was making her leave, Nastya didn't protest this time.

* * *

“I think we shall get going now,” The Doctor returned from the library with another pile of books. He dropped them beside the console and immediately went back to work. “Staying in one place is too maddening. Oh yes, I think I have —”

“In my opinion, space is a little less maddening now.” She leaned over the railing, resting her chin in one hand. “Little... less quiet, now that there's music.”

“Oh?” The Doctor picked up a book and tossed it onto the console. “ _Oh_. Fair.”

He went to pick up his discarded book before he tensed and peered over at her from his position at the console.

“You know, Nastya... speaking of music,” The Doctor flipped a switch, yet ignored Nastya's impatient gaze. “I know she listens to you when you play...” When he paused, he let out a low huff. “She quite enjoys your music when you do.”

“‘She’?” It took a moment for Nastya to process what the Doctor was getting at, and when she realized, the faintest of a smile played upon her lips. “Oh... She-she does.”

The Doctor smiled at her — quite smugly in fact; a face that said “I won” and a face which Nastya scowled at in return a moment later.

 _I wouldn't have left that violin there for you if I didn't like your playing_ , A voice replied. Though it clearly had been Nastya that the response had been directed toward, the Doctor was the one who responded in a low, muttering tone.

“Oh, see, that's who did it.” He hunched over the console. “You know, you should do a better job than just —”

His gaze immediately flickered up to Nastya. Immediately she watched his expression warp into that akin of shock.

“You heard that?”

“Is that a surprise to you?” Nastya shrugged.

The Doctor shook his head and turned back to the console. “Not really,” he said. “At least I know she trusts you.”

_Do you think I didn't trust her before?_

“Well, you refused to speak to her when she first came, and a few... months afterward.”

_Well, I'm sure there's a reason for that, dear Doctor._

“I'm still here if you're done bickering?” Nastya waved impatiently.

“Right...” The Doctor perked up — his smile was anything but apologetic. “If we shall get going?” He messed around with the controls. “Great trip planned — Ridvi, somewhere in the mid... sixth century? Trust me they have the greatest mountains; can hear music for... I forget how long you could hear for, but... so many kilometers, I'm sure.” The smile was quite visible in his eyes as he peeked over his shoulder. “You'll fit in great, I promise.”

* * *

When the Doctor made a promise, it was impossible not to keep. Right atop the mountains, where one could watch the silver grass of Ridvi for as far as the eye could see.

Nervous as she was, Nastya felt that familiar excitement, a tingle through her fingers. The Doctor urged her on until she nearly stood over the edge, the wind blowing and swirling around her, bringing with it a gentle, ethereal hum, unmatched by any planet. With shaking hands, she tuned her violin and tightened the bow. She tuned the Doctor out even when he retreated to the ship. Nastya only let the wind guide her, and, as that wind blew, she steadied the violin upon her shoulder, readied her bow, and waited for her cue to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there wasn't supposed to be an update today but since it's break, why the hell not?
> 
> To stay in schedule, there will also be an update next week, and then our schedule will resume!
> 
> See you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In which the ship learns to trust
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Cw/tw: Passing mention and ideation of suicide

What was it that the Doctor said about trust?

Nothing much, really, but she could see it in his eyes, that answer?

True was a thing to be earned and to be respected — one broken, it was hard to get trust back again.

She was lucky to have trusted him enough, though the trust between each other was quite a fragile one. She still didn't consider them much as friends rather than acquaintances, though they got along at the bare minimum. He made sure at the very least that their boundaries were respected — which included not bursting into Nastya's room to announce where they were if they had gone anywhere at all. She respected his decisions of going off to sulk — for lack of a better word — in the library.

Overall it just worked out. Feelings were mutual.

She wished she could say the same about the ship. After that whole violin incident a month or so back, there was something she felt that she couldn't place. Something nagging, something telling her that perhaps the Doctor was right.

But no. He couldn’t have been right. She could understand her feelings - she didn’t need some strange man dictating what she did or did not feel.

That thought was overwhelming in particular and quite distracting; Nastya would often find that most often when she was playing, and she would lose track of thought and would have to restart the piece all over again. Other times, she just gave up entirely and left the room.

The Doctor assigned her a small bedroom across the hall after one of her particularly frustrating moments, and she’d sit upon the bed, sulking. He would never bother her and that was fine, though an occasional check-up on her would have been nice.

No, she didn't need that. She needed to clear her mind in some way.

Control room. She needed that place. She didn't need the impossible room; she felt a longing to be in the control room again.

She got up from the bed and straightened out her coat.

_Off to the control room we go._

* * *

She returned to the control room in relative silence. She locked the door behind her and closed off that part of her mind, the recent memories and recent doubts.

Nastya lingered at the door for longer than she wanted to, and sighed; she drew it out longer than she needed to, and for a moment she was unsteady.

There came the ringing in her ears again. It didn't ruin her peace and quiet, but it made it rather unpleasant. She groaned slightly and rubbed her temples but the noise refused to cease.

Perhaps it was meant to stay that way, that permanent reminder that she'd kept telling herself was the after burned sound of a gunshot. She'd gone through so much before her year here that it could have been something, though she definitely knew it hadn't come from her childhood.

Nastya turned away from the door. Not surprisingly, the Doctor had left the control room completely vacated, aside from his coat and scarf, of course — those were discarded on one of the railings.

She mentally rolled her eyes.

“Do I _have_ to guess where he's gone to again?”

_Library_.

Nastya circled the controls. “Oh, of course... he's in the library again.”

After circling the console for a few more minutes, Nastya paused. She glanced at the outer doors, then shook her head and gave an impatient mutter. She stepped down, away from the controls, and headed to the exit.

“Why do you suppose he's in the library again?” Nastya's hand barely brushed the exit doors before something mentally repelled her and she went back to the chair again.

_I think he's looking for control manuals_. The ship muttered, quite unamused. _I don't like how much time he's been spending in the library lately, either. He knows how restless I get if I'm left somewhere for too long, especially if that place is open space._

“He needs to hurry up before I leave him somewhere.” Nastya stared at the floor and huffed in exasperation.

The ship didn't reply immediately.

Impatient, Nastya rose from the chair and stretched. She walked quickly over to the console and stared at the controls. “I'm sure it won't take much to learn how to pilot this ship.”

When the ship still didn't reply, she left the controls and headed for the door. It takes some work, but she gets it open and what stands beyond is both maddening and beautiful at the same time.

_Space_. Space and all it's quiet madness and colorful darkness. Nastya reaches out her hand and is met with the same cold from her brief time floating there.

Briefly, she considers throwing herself out there... Perhaps for just a moment and no more, but she restrains herself and sits down instead, her head resting on the door frame.

And there she sits and stares at the stars, which are so close, yet so out of reach. It was hard to believe that nearly a year had already passed since she'd made her final decisions, and had gone out of the airlock of the Aurora. Perhaps at that moment she'd hoped to die, or hoped to wake up somewhere other than this place, but also perhaps whatever she considered a rescue had benefited her more in a way.

Finally there, the ship decides to speak.

_Right... Yeah..._

“Mm?”

_I mean, as you said, you've been here for a year or so. Wouldn't hurt to learn how to pilot a ship._

“Fair point.” Nastya sighed.

_I mean... What I'm trying to say.. I'm trying to..._ The ship stammered, and there was an audible groan of metal from one of the railings inside. _I could... probably teach you._

It is at this moment that Nastya froze. Just for a moment, she feels her heart jump and her breath catch, though she shakes her head and dismisses the possibility of why.

_No. I can't let him win that bet. Him knowing he's right — I'm not prepared for that amount of hubris shoved in my face._

_Is he right?_ The ship asked.

Nastya hesitated for another moment. She considered her response deep in her mind, but eventually shook her head and stood away from the doors. When the sight of space became unable to bear any longer, she shut the door and turned on her heel, heading back for the controls.

The controls looked archaic when she got to them and looked them over. Strange, primitive, utterly unrecognizable compared to what she'd known, but she could easily work them out with time. She wasn't a pilot — she'd never been unless it had been needed — but she could learn.

_Everything is in Gallifreyan if you ever get to that. Such a complex language... The ship was quieter then. So beautiful, though..._

“I suppose that's where the Doctor's from — _Gallifrey_.” She studied the controls for a few more minutes. “And I don't suppose that they were all bumbling idiots as well, hmm?”

_Well, most of them. He was the most idiotic of all, and one day he made the great decision to steal me and run away._

“At least he had a choice in the matter...” Nastya's hands left the controls. Quickly, he headed back to the chair and slumped over in it, trying to untangle a series of thoughts that had then occurred to her. She'd mostly shaken it off, sitting in what she hoped would be a longer period of relative silence.

It was not.

The Doctor stormed into the control room, bursting through the locked door.

_So much for peace and quiet_. Nastya slumped over in the chair with her head in her hands.

_I'll say..._ The ship muttered back in agreement.

“Wait was that door locked?” The Doctor finally noticed Nastya after dropping several large books to the floor. When Nastya glared at him, he backed away. “I'll go get more books if you need me to.” He said. “I didn't mean to burst in on you like this — I'm sorry.”

“I think the moment's already ruined, but thanks for the apology.”

“Were you two talking?”

_Quite obviously... we were._

The Doctor visibly shrunk then. Retreating, he grabbed his coat from the railing and slung it over his shoulder. “I take it that you want me back in the library?” He asked. “I could spend the next couple of years in there if you prefer that.”

“Just give us a few minutes,” Nastya glared at him pointedly. “And leave that door locked as it was.”

“Right,” He said, and gingerly went to his pile of books to pick up what looked to be a control manual. “Right. I'll just be in the library i-if you need me.”

The Doctor quickly retreated out the door, and the lock clicked not seconds later. No footsteps retreated from the door, and Nastya knew she could hear muttering coming from him.

The ship realized as quickly as she did.

_Excuse me for a moment. He's still listening._

Nastya waved her hand about. “Go right ahead.”

She leaned forward in the chair with her head in her hands, running her hands through her hair. She took off her glasses momentarily and shook her head.

She knew why the Doctor was listening, and she didn't like it. She didn't want him to win on whatever little bet they had on if they could consider it such.

_I'm sorry for my tone, but could you give us a little privacy, please_? The ship was just as audibly irritated as Nastya was mentally. _Just... Go back to your library or wherever the hell you were._

Nastya didn't hear the words from the Doctor's side of the argument, although she did catch the distress in his muffled words. There was no reasoning with the madman, even if it was the ship that was reasoning with him.

However, she does catch something as he walks away. “I do know that you like her.”

Nastya put on her glasses and stared at the door. Though she knew that the Doctor couldn't see her, she scowled, flustered. She lowered her head when the ship's voice returned to her and snickered nervously to hide the fact that she'd been listening to their entire conversation.

_I apologize._

“No worry.” Nastya got up from the chair.

_He's just been a little... much lately. Dunno why he always spends his time in the library. Never tells me but I never ask and I don't want to ask, quite frankly._

“True...” Nastya fell silent for a brief moment, considering her next words. “True... Guess I could do with a little more peace and quiet, even if staying in one place is... truly maddening.”

_As I said, I could teach you if you wanted._

The appearance catches her off guard, but there's definitely someone standing at the console, working but staring at her. Nastya only sneaks a glance back before she stares at them.

_What_?

It was the ship's apparition.

_Did you not expect me to do that?_

“N... No, it's just that...” Nastya feels that same reaction from before — the catch of breath, the skip of her heart. For a moment, she is again dumbfounded but she quickly shakes it off and stands from the chair with an angered huff.

_No. She shoved it down. I won't let the Doctor win._

“No, but I suppose you're just full of surprises.”

The apparition smiles brightly at her, messing with the frills on her sleeves. There's a particular bounce in her step as she worked.

_I do suppose everyone is full of surprises, especially a sentient time ship stolen from Gallifrey, and including an immortal Cyberian engineer who likes saving ships and playing the violin._ She glanced back up and seemed to consider her for just a moment before another bright smile broke out upon her face.

Nastya looks away and chuckles.

“Alright, I found what I was looking for.” The Doctor burst through the doors and the apparition abruptly vanished. “I don't suppose we shall get going, no?”

“The ship never taught you how to fly, did she?”

The Doctor went to where the apparition once stood, dripped a manual upon the controls, and shook his head. “Most of it was either self-taught or memories from my time at the Academy, which was a very... very...” He faltered, glancing at her. “Why do you ask?”

Nastya only stared back at him and waited for him to figure it out, but at the same time pleading in vain that his mind would not go that way. She knew it did when that particular look crossed his face and he picked up his manual to bury his face in it.

“I do take it that she fully trusts you?” He didn't look up from his manual but she could see the usual giddiness in the way he held himself. “Whole apparition and all?”

“You could take it that way,” Nastya then hangs over the railing. “But yes... Yes. She appeared, a-and I guess I'm... a friend of hers now, and I'm glad that —”

“Mhm...” He interrupted, his face still in the manual.

“It's just... It... English is hard... Give me a minute.”

He only stared at her while she searched for her words, though there was some urgency in his gaze that seems to beg for her to go on when she physically could not, when the mechanisms of her brain would not work to make words don't to her lips. Instead, she stands there, her arms failing around while words fail and she stammers.

“Can you put it simply?”

“I'm glad that it's just... I don't know...” She smiled briefly, hanging over the railing. “I'm glad it's more than just you that I get to talk to.”

“Do you not like hearing me ramble all day?” He glanced up from the manual — the smile hadn't left his eyes.

She only stared at him, standing away from the railing and crossing her arms.

“Oh,” The Doctor muttered. “Oh, I see now. I see why you like talking to her instead.”

“And why is that?”

“You know my bet.” The Doctor laughed. “You _like_ her.”

“Me?” Nastya shook her head at the accusation. “Oh... Oh no. _No no no no._ You know what I said. You're getting the wrong idea. Not in... that way. I told you — we're just friends.”

He dropped the manual; after pondering at her for a moment, he smiled again. “Oh, so you're blushing for nothing, then?”

“I'm what?”

“Blushing. It's normal.”

“You can't just look at me and naturally assume I'm _blushing_.”

“You have silver blood — mercury if I can recall from that rip in your coat sleeve when you first came. Unlike a normal person who's cheeks would flush red when blushing, you grow paler, and trust me, you didn't just... grow paler for absolutely no reason.” The Doctor flapped his hands about. “And certainly you react like this every time I bring the ship up in this manner.”

She brought her hands to her face, covering her mouth at the barest traces of a smile. Eventually, she buried her face in her hands and the smile grew wider.

“See?” He said. “I'm right, aren't I?”

“This...” She raised her head and waved her hand about. “This changes _nothing_.”

“But am I right?”

She shook her head angrily and pointed to the door. When the Doctor didn't immediately get what was going on, she waved her hand and demanded him to get out.

Though reluctant, the Doctor shakes his head and smiles. He does obey and leaves the room. The door locks behind him, and so Nastya collapses to the floor, laughing to herself.

She is unsure what she's feeling, but it sure isn't negative. When she raises her head, the ship's apparition has returned and her hand is outstretched as though in concern. She fell back, as she must have seen that Nastya was fine, though concern remained in her posture.

Nastya rose to her knees and ran a hand through tangled hair.

“I think... It would be best... To calm down somewhere, wouldn't it?”

_Are you alright?_

“I'm fine. I just... he's an idiot.”

_But he's always an idiot._

“You're making a very good point.” Though Nastya attempted to force her laugh down, it still managed to force itself into the occasional snort or snicker. “But God... _Fuck_ , I'd kill him if he wasn't so mortal.”

The ship didn't reply, though the room creaked around her in subtle agreement.

“Perhaps I should go calm down before I take up that consideration.”

She stood, unsteady, and stumbled to the door.

* * *

When she played the violin again, the ship went along with her. It was a little old melody in Cyberian that they somehow both knew. The ship quite enjoyed it — her words along with the music of the violin flowed gracefully on the wind.

When they finished, either one would ask for an encore and the other would happily comply. This went on for hours of course, as they thought that they would never tire.

But, eventually, they did, and Nastya went back across the hall to her bedroom. She set the violin upon the side table, though she stood there for longer than she should have, engaged in silent conflict with her mind. Eventually, she gave up, fell upon her bed, and stared longingly at the ceiling.

“Well... I don't suppose we go back and find the Doctor, should we? Let him... be the idiot that he is...”

The ship didn't immediately reply, but when she did, it was with a completely unrelated question.

_Does he think you're doing all this to impress me?_

“What?” Nastya sat up. “Do you mean with the music?”

The ship did not reply. Nastya didn't know how to take the ship's response. Embarrassment, possibly? She didn't know, and in the deepest corner of her mind, she didn't want to know.

_Maybe... just a little. You didn't like playing before, and once you heard that I liked your playing and liked talking to me, all you've wanted to do was talk to me and play music and I've always wanted to sing along with you. And... Well... Especially the music... it's strangely beautiful._

“I'm getting that there wasn't any music before... I came, was there?”

_Not unless you count the Doctor's awful singing._

“I've never heard him singing.” Nastya barely suppressed a laugh then. And judging by what you're telling me, I really wouldn't want to.”

_Yeah, I don't think you want to hear him. It's..._ She laughed. _It_ is _quite terrible, to say the least._

Nastya sat up in bed. “That's enough to make me believe you.”

_I suppose so..._ The ship faltered. _Do you think we should check on him? He appears to be muttering something to himself and I have some concerns that he's starting to lose it._

“All that time in the library was going to catch up to him sometime, wasn't it?”

_I do suppose so._

* * *

The Doctor was deep in the library, sitting upon a short stack of books that he'd piled up for himself. His face, as usual, was buried in a large manual — or textbook as it now looked more to be. Whether he was reading or sleeping was unclear, but when she heard him snoring, she knew.

Guess he got bored of talking to himself all day. The ship's apparition slowly materialized and gently plucked the book out of the Doctor's hands; she skimmed through the book, and the emotion drained from her face. She tossed the book aside and patted the Doctor's head.

_I would leave him be. He'll come back on his own._

“Being he won't bother us for a while, I second that.” Nastya smiled a little at him, though it faded a little. “What was he reading?”

_Something about Gallifrey. Suppose that's what he was muttering about_. The apparition turned to pick up the book again. When she flipped back to the page, her face changed back to that same one previous — emotionally deprived. _Ah, they have a section on him personally. Mostly... dissing him, but y'know Gallifrey. Wait you don't exactly. That's him. There's still so much I have to say about Gallifrey. Too much history..._

The apparition picked up another book and flipped through it before gazing again at Nastya. _We shouldn't disturb him._

Nastya only nodded. She smiled upon the sleeping Doctor, before turning on her heel and following the path she'd come back out of the library.

* * *

The two didn't return to the control room immediately; they wandered about the halls, checking out several rooms in the process. They talked about many things, and often went off on their own — the apparition would occasionally vanish to go see if the Doctor was still asleep, and Nastya would run off ahead to look around and get an aspect of the place beyond just the impossible room, the control room, and the halls.

An entire year here, and she hadn't bothered exploring quite yet. Both the impossible room and the control room were where she felt most comfortable; they were a sanctuary of sorts. She felt that somehow, perhaps they had become that way because she had someone to talk to in either, someone who she trusted and someone who trusted her.

No matter. She smiled yet again at the thought.

_Mind if I speak? The Doctor's still asleep._

_Yeah, go ahead._

_I kinda stole one of his books. If he wants it, he'll have to come and get it._

“Is it one of the manuals again?” Nastya rolled her eyes and sighed.

_Um, would you believe me if I said yes?_

“Yeah, that... That sounds about right.”

_Trust me, I do it all the time_. The ship audibly smiled. _I'd hide all of his manuals if I had the chance. Never believed me the first time and he's always fallen for the trick. Guess he's just... probably was Gallifrey says he is._

“An idiot?”

The ship laughed.

_An idiot. A bumbling fool._

Nastya tried to hide the laugh, scuffing her boot upon the floor, but she knew it was hard to hide it when it was so genuine. She did burst out in hearty laughter a few seconds of failed containment. That laughter echoed through the halls until Nastya caught herself and cut it off abruptly.

“God, I — I haven't laughed like that in a while.” she covered her mouth when laughter still attempted to escape.

_Didn't you laugh back in that control room?_

“Yeah, but it wasn't you that made me laugh that time.”

_It was that bumbling idiot, wasn't it? It was. He pointed out that you were blushing because he insists we like each other and you sent him out of the room —_

“You're going to make me send you out if you keep that up.” She said suddenly, staring at the floor. Her smile made it quite obvious that the statement wasn't meant to be taken seriously. “You're going to make me consider that he's right.”

_Perhaps he was._

Nastya considered for a moment before turning around. “ _Nah_.”

* * *

Nastya sat at the chair, skimming the manual the ship had stolen from the Doctor. Every once in a while, she'd glance up. The ship's apparition would glance away — she'd been watching Nastya with a strange curiosity.

Nastya eventually grew bored of the words on the page but would skim to pretend she was reading and would glance up with a smile at the apparition, though the apparition would still glance away.

Once though, she did catch her in the act, but hid her face in a book and began giggling like a child. The ship tried to hide a laugh behind a hand but it was obvious from the way the control room hummed around Nastya and the fact that the apparition buried her face in her hands.

_What are you reading?_

“Nothing now,” Nastya closed the manual and rested her chin in her hand. “What're you doing?”

_Nothing_... The apparition avoided her gaze. What could have only been a blush crept onto her face. _Nothing important. Kinda thinking when the Doctor will return for his manual._

Nastya stared at the manual in her lap, then skimmed through a few pages.

“Well, it's not going to be given away so easily if he does.”

The ship laughed again. _Fair_.

* * *

He did return to the control room a while later. Sleep still lingered in the way he stood and the way he walked, the way he only glanced at Nastya, and the way he stared back at the floor and sighed.

“Good nap then, wasn't it?” Nastya held up one of his manuals but he didn't seem to register that it was in her hand until she set it upon the console.

Sleepily, the Doctor threw his coat and scarf upon the railing; he yawned before curtly replying, “I suppose you liked my peace and quiet, then... Didn't you?”

“Perhaps...” She smiled, whirling away from the console, only coming to a rest near the chair. Yet she didn't sit down and stood there with her arms crossed and a smirk upon her face.

“Wait,” The Doctor frantically searched his coat pockets. “Didn't I have that manual in the library?”

Nastya smiled broadly. “ _Maybe_.”

_I didn't steal it._

“She didn't, and I can back up that statement.”

_I can back up the fact that she backs that up._

The Doctor saw the manual upon the controls and snatched it up, glaring at the two. “This is about to be the last straw.”

“Maybe next time, _I'll_ steal the manual from the library.”

Nastya stood from the chair. The ship's apparition was still standing on the other side of the room and was staring at her with a pointed smirk.

“Oh, don't you two start.” The Doctor caught wind of the aura in the room and glanced at the two. “I don't need... you two... flirting... in my ship.”

_Who says we're flirting?_ The ship teased. _Plus, I_ am _your ship. I can do whatever the hell I want, Doctor. And that includes stealing your manuals from the library._

She looked to Nastya and winked at her; Nastya could just barely feel the hint of a flush upon her face, but the smile was more obvious.

“You're blushing again,” The Doctor faced Nastya. “That's how I can tell.”

_Oh, don't you dare go in that direction, dear Doctor. I could remind your friend here about one... unfortunate engagement several hundred years back, if I may?_

Immediately, the Doctor's face turned a bright shade of red. “ _No_ , no venturing there again.”

_How you proposed to her —_

“I said don't go there. We do _not_ go there.” The Doctor glanced helplessly to Nastya but she could only manage a smile back. “That was an accident. I didn't know the customs back then.”

_You were an ignorant little child, weren't you?_

The Doctor pulled the scarf over his face, though it's quite evident now that he's blushing. “I wish I could kill you some days.”

_But you can't —_

“You wouldn't do it either. You don't have the heart to do it.” Nastya butted in. “Plus, we're not flirting. Just friends.”

“Alrighty, then.” The Doctor pulled his scarf back down and lumbered over to his chair. “If you insist you're ' _just friends_ ' as many historians so often do.”

_I know what you're insinuating and I don't like it._

“Just pointing out the obvious...” He replied.

_Well if we're pointing out the obvious, it's obvious that you're an idiot._

“I am _not_.”

_Well, you barely passed your class the second time around, and I do recall you telling me about your tutor and you said he never wanted you near a ship like me, let alone driving one._

“I'm still here.” Nastya waved from her place on the railing. “Are we going somewhere or are you going to keep bickering like starlings?”

“I just need to pop off somewhere for a minute. I hope you guys don't mind.” He smiled at the both of them — the apparition shook her head, pulled a face, and abruptly disappeared. “Back in, back out.”

“Where..?” Nastya stared at him indignantly but he avoided her gaze.

“Couldn't find anything about a particular thing in my library, so...”

“You're going off to _another_ library...” She lowered her head. “I'm starting to believe you're making excuses and it's becoming less funny the more you make them.”

“ _Oi_ , I'm not making any excuses!” He threw his scarf back on and went to work at the controls. “I genuinely need a book from the library and I'll be right back.”

“Promise?”

He smiled back at her. “Promise.”

* * *

He'd been gone for longer than he'd promised. Nastya sat below the scanner screen, tinkering about at a panel she'd freed from the central console. She ship's apparition only watched her quietly, yet occasionally twirled her dark hair around her fingers, then would sigh to fill the silence.

_You said he's making excuses?_

Nastya glanced up and dripped the wire she held in her hand. “Mm?”

_You accused him of making too many excuses._ The apparition tilted her head. _Why's that?_

“Well, he's been in the library time and time again.” Nastya yelped as she was shocked by that same wire. “Thus leaving us alone together, and... he's got this thing in his mind that I like you and you like me in that way, and well... I think he's pushing this agenda...”

I _like you._

The answer took her by surprise. Nastya dropped the panel.

“What?”

_I — I do quite like you. For some time..._

Nastya felt that same feeling again... she tried and failed to force down a smile as it crept to her face, and when her breath caught again it could be heard throughout the room.

“You know what,” She pushed the panel away from her and it was quickly forgotten. “The Doctor is an idiot, but he's not that big of an idiot.”

_You —_

“Yes, I like you too.” She immediately covered her face with her hands.

_You're blushing again_. The ship disappeared and reappeared, kneeling before her.

“Do you find that to be a problem?” She looked away but smiled again.

_No_ , the ship said. _I find it cute when you do._

Nastya stole a glance found the apparition blushing herself as she said this.

She stared at her lap and smiled broadly.

So the feeling was mutual — their feelings were reciprocated. She couldn't deny it to the Doctor when it had become so blatant, so obvious.

She wished she could outside to wherever and admit that he was right, no matter if she humiliated herself in public or not. He'd won after all. He'd won and she'd lost and she really felt stupid and — _God_ why was she blushing again?

“Well... the Doctor was right.”

_About what?_ The apparition pulls back for a brief moment. Her eyes widen and her face betrays her realization. _Oh... He had a bet on this and he won it._

“I guess there's no denying that now.” Nastya laughed softly. “We'll let that blundering idiot wallow in his hubris.”

_I suppose there is that. God, he's..._ God _, I love you._

“I love you too.”

“See?” The Doctor strode in without warning. “I told you both I wouldn't be long. And look,” He held the book up like a trophy. “I found what I was looking —”

He glanced between the two as he shut the door.

“ _Oh_... so I guess I was right, wasn't I?” He closed the book he was holding and set it carelessly upon the console as he approached it. “You two —”

_Don't start —_

“I was just pointing out the obvious and you couldn't see it.”

_I said don't start._

“Right...” He smiled. “Right, I won't start if you don't want me to.”

_Here it comes._

“But I won the bet.”

_There it is._

“Well,” He immediately changed the subject and circled the controls. “Shall we get going?”

_Please_ , the apparition said as she disappeared. _Go somewhere, before I do it myself._

“Somewhere?” He blinked at her before it occurred to him. “Oh. Right,” He lifted his hands like a conductor conducting an orchestra, then flung himself around the controls. “Time for a new adventure, shall we?”

_Please don't drive so recklessly._

The Doctor smiled at Nastya. “I don't make any promises, and... Nastya, please remember to pick up that panel...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get this out earlier in the day! School's swamping me right now, and I couldn't get into it until tonight.  
> I do think it was worth it. It's my favorite chapter I've written so far! God, I feel nothing but happy now.
> 
> See you guys in two weeks!
> 
> ~~~
> 
> P.s. Chapter Eight will rely heavily on DTTM, so it will contain spoilers! Of you haven't listened to the final album, I highly suggest you listen to it before reading Chapter Eight!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are lies we tell ourselves....
> 
> ~~~~  
> Cw/tw: Physical and emotional trauma, dissociation, character death (including major character), death of a family member, heavy blood mentions, implied unreality, canon-typical violence  
> (I personally found this chapter to be heavy working through, so I highly suggest you be cautious while reading through.)

How cold she was.

She _hated_ the snow. Hated it with her entire life.

But she had to be out here. As an experiment. Whatever the fuck that meant.

Her coat didn't help. The cold came from not just around her, but in her blood as well. Her blood was too cold, way too cold. Even after crossing her arms to keep her hands warm, Nastya found that her fingers were turning to an ugly shade of gray.

White. Everything was white. Too dense — Nastya wouldn't be able to see the Aurora even if she was standing inches away.

She wanted her, she longed for her warmth again. But she couldn't see her. God, where was she? Why had she been left out here? Her mind was so foggy that she couldn't remember whether she'd been deliberately left out here or just simply forgotten.

Someone would notice she was gone sometime or another. She knew who would notice first. She knew he would be absolutely furious whether it had been an accident or not.

Nastya shivered again, ready to collapse in the snow when there came a voice.

_Where are you?_

She attempted to open her mouth to speak, but the cold had frozen her voice.

So she pleaded silently.

_If you can hear me. Please. Please respond._

_Nastya? Where are you? I can... sense you but you are not there._

White... Snow all around her, blistering against her skin. She too, could sense distant warmth but could not tell where it was coming from. In front of her? Behind her? Left? Right? Above?

Aurora was near. _Where_...

 _There_. Ahead. Nearer than she thought she was. Nearer. The trek would be perilous — her legs were growing heavy with snow, or perhaps, death.

Death. Didn't want to think about that. Just rest. Rest was more reassuring than death.

She knocked against something; a dull metallic echo responded.

 _Aurora_.

She braced herself against the outer hull; she could not feel the warmth against her frostbitten fingers. She could no longer feel the warmth at all.

_Please, if you can hear me. Aurora... Please... Respond..._

_I'm here... I'm here. You can rest now._

Nastya smiled, mainly to herself, and closed her eyes. When she took a step, she barely made it before her legs gave out, and she collapsed, lifeless, into the snow before the Aurora.

* * *

Then she jerks awake.

When had she fallen asleep? She didn't recall passing out, or coming into the control room, for that matter.

“Oh, good morning.” The Doctor looked up from where he stood at the controls. “I don't suppose you had a good whole day's rest?”

“Whole... day?” Groggy, she sits up and fixes her glasses, silently begging for her eyes to focus. They don't, and she gives up, staring at her lap.

“I've been... going around places if you don't mind.” He protested, then, when Nastya stood. “Don't worry, nothing eventful... I assure you, you didn't miss much.”

“And you just left me on the floor?”

“Looked peaceful enough,” He looked down at the controls and smiled a bit. “And considering that you've been through quite a bit I just let you sleep.”

“Nightmares wouldn't count as sleep.” Nastya messed with her hair and yawned loudly. “But, considering the entire day... I guess I could make an exception.”

The Doctor only smiled in response and shrugged.

“Where are we going?”

“Just got to pop off for a quick second.” He held up a book in his hand — the book he'd borrowed from a library. Long overdue, she'd say, by nearly six months, but as they were in a time ship and he could have just easily returned within the month, Nastya chose to keep her protest to herself. “I'll be gone for only a few minutes, alright?”

She nodded.

“You're not going to get into trouble, are you?”

She shook her head. “What trouble can I get into?”

“You cut the power three months ago.” He pointed at the scanner. “We were nearly sucked into a black hole. That... That's not pleasant.”

“Cut it, by _accident_.”

“We were nearly sucked into a black hole.” The Doctor repeated more bluntly. He set the book down and sighed. “Right. _Fine_. Collective faults. Just... don't get into any trouble.”

“Aye, aye, sir Doctor.” She mock-saluted him but he only scowled; he picked up his coat along with the book, then disappeared out the door.

_You lied to him, didn't you?_

“Yep.” She leaped to her feet. “Well, I think. Probably not the trouble you would think. I won't cut the power, and to be fair, he'd upset me that day and I wasn't having that, but you know that entire story.”

_You almost pulled us into a black hole, if I can recall his words and first-hand experience._

“Again, fair.”

The ship was silent for a few moments, and Nastya hesitated, messing with the sleeve cuffs of her coat. She nearly jumped when the ship broke the silence with, Should we go somewhere?

“Won't the Doctor be back in a few minutes?” It took her way too long to realize. “Right, time ship. Won't you need a pilot, though?”

_I don't always need him to pilot. Sentient time ship. Free will. Trust me, I've abandoned him more than once for far too long, and... yeah, no he didn't like that. But what I'm suggesting is that we go somewhere, then come back a minute after he left. He won't notice._

“You sure this is a good idea?” Nastya sat back down against the wall.

_Of course, it is. Well, it's a better idea than just sitting around or getting pulled into a black hole — I never liked that, I apologize, but at the same time... Yeah it was fun._

“Which one was it?”

The apparition appeared before her and smiled broadly.

 _It was fun_. She said. _Now, should we sit around and wait for the Doctor to ruin the fun, or shall we get going?_

Nastya smiled back, then nodded as well. “Let's go.”

* * *

She knew they'd left even before she'd regained consciousness; the cold of the planet retreated only to be replaced with the familiar warmth of Aurora.

Now all she wanted to do was sleep. It was warm outside, though she did not feel it; she was finally back, and all she wanted to do was sleep after her return.

Returning from death was never a pleasant experience. It was always sudden and always made her so nauseous that she had to cover her mouth to prevent herself from throwing up.

Returning from death by hypothermia, however, was the worst. It was like being pulled from a frozen lake after being in there for years and then given no chance to recover before sensory information flooded in.

And it was cold. Always _cold_.

Colder than she normally felt and it sank so deep that ' _cold_ ' was her only thought.

She knew it had been a while since she'd lost consciousness — the snow planet was far behind them, almost out of sight of both electronic and human eyes.

 _Good_.

Nastya never wanted to see that hellscape ever again.

She sat up, groaning and shivering. Surveying herself, Nastya found that she had been dragged in here, judging from healing scrapes of metal burn and small tears in her shirt, as well as the fact that her coat was missing.

Her skin was still an ashen gray from healing frostbite — she'd been lucky to not have lost any fingers; those were always unpleasant when healing.

“Ah, so you're awake.”

She looked up. Jonny stood over her, emotionless. The coat that she'd forgotten before she went outside was draped in his arms.

“Yeah, finally.” She tried to suppress a shiver, though her whole body very visibly shook.

“Well, I'm glad you're back...”Jonny sat down, pulled her close, and draped her coat over her shoulders. “I'm sorry if... you're still a bit rattled.” He laughed humorlessly. “Frostbite will do that to you.” Nastya could sense concern in his voice. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Cold,” She said; her teeth began to chatter. “ _Really cold_.”

“Right, should have known that,” Jonny muttered, and shrugged then. “Always cold. Suppose your dear Aurora's going to fix the heating right up.”

Nastya didn't reply.

He was quiet as well.

Nastya hated quiet, especially when unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Nothing could be prompted from them, not even a single word. It made her ears ring, even above the faint hum of Aurora's engines; the ringing was an uncomfortable sound that couldn't be dulled by the quiet.

“What does she think of it?” Jonny finally said after a long while. “How did... _Aurora_ think of it?”

Nastya didn't reply immediately, though she drew the coat closer around her.

“I'm taking she doesn't like it.” He replied for her.

Shivering again, Nastya shook her head, stifling a half-hearted laugh. “She doesn't. She never likes it.”

“Right,” He says; he echoes one of his earlier statements. “Should have... known that already.”

He sits up suddenly and clears his throat. “I know it was an accident, but...” He stares at his lap for longer than Nastya was comfortable with. “Carmilla told me you were fine, that you had gone back early and were in the engine room warming up after the walk back, and when I went to look for you I —”

“ _Hey_ ,” Nastya interrupts, reaching a shivering hand from her coat and across his shoulder. “I'm fine now, aren't I?”

“Suppose...” He shoved her off without warning and bolted to his feet. “I'm... going to have a talk with her. If she goes out of the airlock, just so between you and me, it wasn't me who did it. Just... stay right here.”

She nods.

“Find somewhere warm.” There's an unusual pity to his gaze. “Please.”

* * *

Wherever they had gone, it wasn't recognizable from the scanner alone — Nastya had been studying the image as soon as they had gotten there, about half an hour ago, and there was nothing recognizable but darkness and dust. She doubted the place had an atmosphere.

She doubted it was much of a planet if a planet at all.

 _Asteroid_.

“Well,” Nastya sighed. “Consider me thoroughly surprised.”

 _We're somewhere, at least._ The ship said. _Asteroid Pol... Noch— Something along those lines. Russian?_

“ _Полночь_. Cyberian,” She corrected the ship and moved away from the scanner. “Midnight. Of course. Something dark and easily recognizable. Something hidden in plain sight.”

_Do you recognize it?_

“One of my... father's _many_... outposts.” She replied. “Just outside the system and hidden because what my father did was —” She cuts herself off. “It was taken over by revolutionaries before the palace was stormed. Whole covert thing...”

_I can... go somewhere else if you'd like._

“No.” She smiles after a moment. “Should go exploring. Feel restless.”

 _Well if you are,_ The ship replied with unusual glee. _The place appears abandoned. Mostly. Wait there's a... Small town. A few hundred people._

“Wouldn't hurt to say hello.” Nastya adjusted her coat collar. She stepped away from the scanner and it shut on cue. Quickly she stepped toward the doors but took one last glance around. “Shouldn't be gone for more than an hour.”

The door was barely open — she'd hardly taken a step outside — before she turned around and smiled. “Love you.”

_Love you too._

Nastya glanced away and smiled to herself; she stepped out of the doors and, like the scanner, they shut on cue.

Cold.

Instantly she was met with cold.

Cold. Thin. _Biting_.

The air she breathed was as thin as it was cold; this place was only barely illuminated by the light of a distant sun. She scuffed the ground and dust swirled around her boots. Asteroid. That still didn't surprise her — this ship had said herself that she would surprise her by taking her somewhere.

_But why here, an asteroid, of any places? What did the ship have to show for this?_

_Well, to be fair again, you did tell me to surprise you... And perhaps this place needs you for a while._

“Fair...” Nastya hesitated, uneasy.

She'd never liked asteroids. They were always cold and too desolate. Nothing much to cause chaos on, anyway. Always too plain and often littered with outcasts and stowaways. Usually, those would be the types of people she'd be around — the crew themselves had diverse backgrounds that weren't too great, including her own.

 _Well then, I guess I'll fit right in_. She drew her arms close to her and shivered. _Got to get someplace warm. No more than an hour._

She scuffed at the ground again.

_Time to explore._

* * *

After a while, she shuffled toward the vent opening, viola and bow in hand. She'd been scrambling around there for some time — her clothes were covered in dust she thought hadn't been there, and it was growing increasingly harder to breathe because of it.

Nastya hesitated. Something was happening outside. Fighting?

She shuffled closer to the opening, listening intently. The voices were unintelligible, but she knew who they belonged to. Nobody else was on Aurora, spare her, Jonny, and Carmilla.

So they were most definitely fighting.

She held her viola tighter, though made sure it was still tucked gently in her arms; her already-tight grip on the bow grew tighter, nearly splintering in her hand.

_This is normal._

She suddenly turned and kicked the vent opening to the floor. The bickering stopped for a moment, before continuing as though she'd not been there.

Then she slipped outside. It was a short drop to the floor — about a meter or so below. She landed with a soft thud and immediately curled up. Her bow clattered out of her hand and to the floor beside her.

Once again, the two — from across the room — glanced at her. However, unlike the previous time, there was a moment of silence.

“I'm being perfectly reasonable, and yet... You still don't seem to be listening...” She knew the hesitancy in Carmilla's voice... She knew that Jonny had cornered her, which was... A rare case in itself.

“We've been arguing about this for fifteen minutes. This should end now. Admit what you did, and—”

“Listen, I assure you, I thought she had come in with you. I locked the airlock because —”

“Either way, it isn't a _fucking_ excuse to leave her in the cold!” Jonny's voice rose — Nastya clung to her viola, her only friend in this place. She avoided his gaze when he glanced at her; she only clung to the viola tighter.

“Oh, dear Jonathan,” The woman gently placed a hand upon his shoulder — Nastya would have said it was a loving gesture if not for what had been done to her. “If you want me to admit it, then fine. It was just a mere test for her, a —”

“Don't you do that. Don't go all ' _oh, dear Jonathan_ ' to me,” He spat, teeth bared, shoving her hand off of his shoulder. “Don't. _Touch_. Her. _Don't_. _Hurt. Her._ Got that?”

Immediately, Carmilla's calm but piercing gaze flashed over to Nastya. Nastya looked down at her viola — she released her grip on it — and plucked at the strings, pretending not to listen. She wished for her bow, just to play to drown out the argument between the two. She wished for it as it wouldn't be as painful as picking at the strings with still frostbitten hands.

Jonny managed to de-escalate the situation before it never grew from there. Carmilla stalked away, offering what could gave been a weak smile toward him before she disappeared off somewhere — Nastya supposed her lab again.

When Jonny looked toward her — he was shaking — she didn't look away. His face told her everything. _‘I did it_ ’, his expression said. ‘ _She's gone_ ’.

Her response was only a simple nod, and she went to pick up her bow with shaking hands but winced and dropped it at her feet. There was no use. She curled up against the wall and hugged her viola again as Jonny left the room without a single word to her.

* * *

Nastya began muttering to herself, walking alone along the asteroid town's main street. She's hugging herself, fighting against the cold no matter how much it won't stop. _The sun in the system is too far away_ , she reminded herself. _Too far away to get nothing but scant heat and barely any air to breathe in._

She looks upon the buildings. They're worn down old things — old radio buildings and radio towers and old houses meant to be temporary places for Cyberian troops — nothing much for others to make a home in, but when she sees people peeking out of windows and doors, or even just passing by, she smiles a bit to herself. People were making their livings here, even if not their best livings.

When several people stared for a bit longer than she would have liked, she glared back at them but shrunk slightly in her coat.

Of course, she was someone they'd mistrust all the same — she'd gained some unwanted authority with her status in the system, an unfortunate thing passed down from her father, who regrettably, was intruding within her thoughts.. _again_.

She needed someplace warm, someplace other than the rundown houses — on what she now surmised was the main street — that looked hardly providing of warmth at all.

If this was the main street, there had to be a hangout of someplace. A town hall would be nice: Nastya could probably swoop as far low as a bar if she was lucky — after all, if she thought about it, that was what her crew found to be a safe space most time, though also in hindsight, those often escalated into bar fights where one of them would have to be dragged to Aurora because hubris got them killed.

She shot a glance toward a peculiarly hooded figure who'd stared at her for a long while. They smiled at her and jerked their gaze toward a small, dark, wooded building to Nastya's right — tucked into a hole dug into a hill.

“Why did —” She turned back to look at the figure, but they'd disappeared, as though they'd never been there in the first place. She shook her head and muttered a particularly severe Cyberian curse. “Guess I know where I'm going.”

* * *

She dragged her feet down the hall, stalking cautiously past doors and vents, watching for any sign of life or movement. She still carried her bow and viola with her, hugging it tightly.

_So... you're going looking for him, aren't you?_

“He's either dead, trying to play Captain again, or trying to get Carmilla out of an airlock.” Nastya chuckled slightly. “I don't mind which one.”

I _could send him out of an airlock if that pleases you enough_.

She pondered at the suggestion — she even paused with a glance around the hallway — but then she shrugged and shook her head. “He ought to figure out the consequences on his own.”

A hum of amusement was the response. _Alright. But if you reconsider... he's near the main airlock. Just a little nudge will do, perhaps._

Once again, Nastya chuckled. “Ah, well then. Maybe just a little nudge.”

Among the mess in her arms, she grabbed her bow and held it before her. It was still splinter from her little moment of fright. She traced the small crack in the wood and sighed miserably.

“I guess this needs to be fixed...”

_Not the first time..._

Nastya puts the bow back, gently, into the small tangle of things in her arms. A door to her right opens, and, smiling mostly to herself, she steps through to the inside.

* * *

Of course, a bar fight was the last thing she expected to walk into.

Especially so casually.

She leaned back against the door, half-tempted to hide yet half-tempted to join in with the fray. She could hear glass shattering everywhere, wood breaking — she swore she saw someone get thrown out a window somewhere. Nastya glanced around quickly, wondering if she could spot any face, anyone she could talk to and get information before she left.

She ducked as a chair was thrown in her direction, then resumed her visual search from a cowering position upon the floor.

Everyone seemed to be fighting. No face was familiar or docile — because of course, everyone had to be involved in a bar fight or be killed if one sign of hesitancy was shown. She was tempted to open the door and flee back outside, though one thing made her hesitate as she reached for the door handle.

Him.

Him standing at the center of it, fending off those who dared come near him. Him laughing, mouth wide open in a gleeful war cry, hurling a burly man into the center table, sending both him and it to the floor. He draws his gun and without further thought, pulls the trigger. Another man falls.

Nastya's breath catches in her throat.

 _Jonny_?

In succession, he fires several more rounds and several more figures fall to the floor, either dead or wounded. When the gun is empty, he tosses it aside and resorts back to fighting bare-handed.

Nastya shakes her head.

_It can't be him._

When the cacophony stops for just a brief moment, she finds him staring at her. He's still got that wicked smile upon his face, but it's died down slightly. Recognition seems to cross his face before he shakes his head and starts the fray up once again.

Nastya shivers.

 _It_ is _him_.

Jonny steals a gun off a man who comes within range and fires it back at him. The man falls to the floor, lifeless.

At this, Jonny smiles and laughs. There's a comment he makes that Nastya doesn't see but it was clearly mocking. He stands for a moment, gloating over his victory, mocking others who dared fight him.

However, in all his mocking hubris, he isn't prepared for man's comrade. He rushes at Jonny. There's a knife in his hand and Jonny isn't prepared. Nastya goes to call out but her voice is stuck in her throat and she can only watch as he Kearns back with an audible gasp.

He there's another shot from Johnny's gun and the man falls. Jonny stumbles back, briefly out of Nastya's view, though she can hear him laugh. He falls back into view a moment later, and just stands there, and stares almost in wonder at the knife still embedded in his heart. He pulls it out and stares at its now blood-stained metal, and laughs again, much to Nastya's dismay.

He drops it to the floor.

She hears the yelling of his name but doesn't register that the yell is coming from her mouth — her calling his name — until the cacophony stops, and stares at her.

Then she stands, back pressed against the door, and shakes her head slowly at Jonny, and he stares back at her. For a moment, their eyes stay there, gazes locked. His hand is clutched to his chest, now stained red with his blood, but he stares at her and smiles sadly — Nastya's heart is in her throat then.

His smile grows — then he laughs a vicious laugh. Nastya didn't know whether it was because of death, or because... that realization that this was his first sight of her — his sister — in a millennium. His legs give out, and he collapses to the bar floor.

At once, the chaos comes to a finality. People drop glasses, tables, chairs, and even other people, to the floor, and just stare. The once clustered crowd muttered aimlessly then dispersed into quiet corners. Whoever lingered fell under Nastya's glare and eventually fell back into hushed whispers and lingering, secretive stares.

Nastya pried herself away from the door, and silently approached Jonny — he seemed to have not noticed her, for he hardly moved, though he's still laughing from his place on the floor. She doesn't stop walking until her boot steps in a small pool of blood, and at once she's standing over him, to which he does notice, and the vicious laugh immediately dies in his throat.

“ _Oh_... Nas... You came back...” He rasps, and there's a somewhat nostalgic look upon his face. “You said you weren't coming back.”

“I said _probably_ ,” She forces the words out of her throat — it's half a lie but she says it. “I never said definitely.” She kneels down and gently pulls him into her lap; he grunted slightly but the only protest he gave towards her otherwise was a glare. “But I have, and guess what? I'm here, aren't I?”

“Oh,” He laughs again. “Well, then, you showed up at the worst time.”

“I've shown up at worse, and you know it.” She didn't laugh, shaking her head. “Plenty of bar fights and... burning down of entire planets... Much worse. ” She laughed to hide obvious sobs. “ _God_ , I hate you most days, Jonny.”

“I get...” He's still laughing, though he's much weaker now. “I got... the memo.” There's something... sad that lingers in his eyes, but he does not say it. “God, I thought you died. I... Grew impatient after you went... Out of that airlock. Held onto... some hope, I guess.”

_Held... Onto hope. Jonny? He's... He's not like that._

Nastya feels herself begin to tremble. She holds him closer; he's cold — that familiar sign of death. She forces the inevitable thought back, along with another sob.

“God, _watch it_.” He spits. “I'm not dead _yet_ , Nas...”

“Does it look like I care?” She bites her tongue. “Did I _ever_?”

“Nah, you...” His breath shakes — that penultimate finality. “You never... you never did...” He lingers on the last words for an absurdly long time. He laughs harshly once more, then he seems to relax in her arms. Nothing more is said as the last breath escapes from his lips, and the once-steady ticking of his heart grinds to a halt.

She keeps him close to her, waiting for his heart to jumpstart and bring him back to life. If it would.

* * *

She never liked it when he died. Never did. Even when she killed him herself, it always hurt her in some way or another. Perhaps it was because they'd grown up together, or something inborn, but she'd never gone without guilt when he died.

Perhaps it was because she'd known what had happened to her own family back on Cyberia, how she'd been helpless to stop their deaths, how she had never gotten closure on them, no matter how much she searched.

She wished she'd gotten closure. It always made her sick that the last memory of her family back on Cyberia was... all happiness and sickening smiles. She wished she had seen their bodies — such a morbid thought that was. She just needed to know what had happened to them, and that morbid curiosity would follow her for years until she filed it away in the least of her priorities.

She found peace then, in filing it away. It had always been a dreadful calm if she ever brought it up, but, once she filed those memories back in her mind, she found solace again... If solace was one way to describe it. That was closure enough, and her mind would always be in silence if she ever chose to search for them.

* * *

Even so, even that familiar dreadful calm of memories grew quiet as Nastya cradled her brother's now lifeless form in her arms.

She could wait for him.

She _would_ wait for him.

Jonny would come back soon enough, and they could leave. They could leave, and be done with this dreadful place. They could leave this dreadful place behind.

All he had to do... Was come back.

She shoved back a thought and quickly replaced it with a question.

_Would he?_

* * *

The first time — or one of the earliest times — she could recall of his death and return was not the most pleasant thing to witness. Jonny wasn't the most pleasant of people to hang around with, so of course, the first death she witnessed of him — that hadn't been inflicted by her of course — didn't come as much of a surprise as one would think.

It had been the first time Carmilla had gone out of the airlock. Jonny, of course, had seized the opportunity and had taken whatever control of Aurora that he'd had and piloted the both of them as far as they could away from her.

For a while, they both hung about on an abandoned asteroid floating aimlessly through space. A ghost town.

Somehow, though they were alone, Nastya didn't feel at all reassured. Strangers, walking through a ghost town. This was never well. There was the off chance that some stranger still lingered here, clinging onto this town with just a bare thread of hope. Jonny had always made sure nobody lingered, unless, perhaps, they were good enough to prove their worth. And even then, he wouldn't leave them without scars.

She didn't want to stick around to see any of that, so she lingered behind on the Aurora, preferring the beating thrum of the engines over the quiet. She would watch from a window and talk to her, about places they'd go, the time they'd spend together while floating through space... Many things.

The silence didn't last for much longer. She became aware of a dull pounding in her ears, over the usual static that filled the silence. It did not occur to her immediately, however, that the pounding was not in her ears, but rather an external source.

That was until the pounding grew less rhythmic and more hurried. Nastya stood from the window and huddled to the door, which opened on cue.

The pounding came from the end of the hall to the right of her as she stepped out of the room. It grew slower once the door shut behind her.

 _Main airlock_. She turned on her heel and followed it down until it grew completely overwhelming — the only sound she could hear; even the ringing in her ears was nearly nonexistent.

“I'm coming, hang on.” She opened the entrance to the airlock as she entered herself. The large door opened and in stumbled Jonny. She opened her mouth to berate him only to realize he was covered in blood.

“ _God_ ,” She shut the doors and hurried to him. “ _Jonny_. Jonny, what the _hell_ did you do?”

He smiles for just a minute. “I wasn't alone. There was...” Immediately he collapsed to the floor — Nastya fell to her knees beside him.

She glanced around and silently asked to leave. She felt the ship jerk from around her, and from a small window on the other side of the vast room, she watched as the stars began to pass them by.

She then turned back to Jonny and studied him quickly. Most of the blood appeared to not be his — and unfortunately was also painfully human.

 _Ambush_. He'd likely gotten most of them killed in the process but something was killing him and she didn't know nor want to know what it was. She fell back slightly and held her breath.

He stared at her with bloodshot eyes when she realized. A shaking, bloodied hand reached out to grasp hers. His smile almost mocked her. “Don't worry. I'll be back. You know I will...”

“You're just going to get yourself killed again, Jonny.” The berating tone finally escaped. Too late, in fact, for him to hear. His grip on her hand had lessened and his own hand had fallen to the floor.

Silence followed briefly, only broken by a curse.

“ _Shit_.”

She fell back on her knees and sighed loudly. Staring at her blood-stained hands she laughed for just a moment before she lapsed into silence, there upon the floor of the airlock.

* * *

A voice broke the silence that she had cherished. “You do realize that you interrupted something important here.”

Nastya finally let go of Jonny, and she stood to approach the owner of that voice. Her demeanor was strangely calm but her shaking hands told otherwise. She stared them down, but they refused to cower.

“Something important?” She smiles but it's forced — cold. “You think needless fighting... Is _important_?”

The person doesn't reply. Nastya only narrows her eyes.

Without warning, she takes a bottle from one of the tables and throws it clean across the room. The fear in the person's eyes changed into something akin to rage, and so, making what she thought was a rational decision, Nastya retaliated in the only way that she could.

* * *

Nastya never felt fear in such a way before. She only felt true, raw fear when she was hiding deep in the vents of the Aurora, or locked and huddled within a small place that she was sure that she would never be found.

Still, she would be found and needed for some other purpose, or used against her will in something that she knew was supposed to be something good but never was and so she didn't want to do it ever again.

She knew Carmilla was back. Those footsteps were quiet and Jonny wasn't quiet about anything. She'd learned too much about Carmilla just from hiding in the vents. She learned her habits and what her voice sounded like — how she spoke in this quiet manner that suggested some ruined past that she dared not speak of but Nastya couldn't fully bring herself to pity no matter how calm Carmilla was.

Nastya knew that Carmilla was well-meaning, or at the very least she tried to be towards them, much like any other mother would, but there were scars she gave that lingered, that Nastya couldn't quite shake off no matter how hard she tried.

Even now as she hid, she couldn't shake that feeling, along with the feeling that Carmilla was somehow following her.

She was. Her footsteps had paused below the vent from which Nastya hid. When the question came out of her mouth, she sounded... sad, in a way.

“Anastasia?”

Nastya held her breath.

There was a dragging, something that pulled her to look through the vents. She fought herself but lost the battle, but went further than just peering through the vent. She kicked it open and poked her head outside.

Carmilla back away slightly — when she smiled, Nastya felt herself unconsciously flinch. Another mental battle was fought — and lost, of course — and she slipped out of the vent, and landed heavily on the floor.

“What are you... doing back?” She demanded, forcing her voice up. “Jonny... Jonny pushed you out of an airlock. You were —”

“We all feel a little homesick, Anastasia.”

Nastya knew the meaning behind her words — she could sense the warmth behind them. She still sounded sad though Nastya didn't want to know why.

And yet she was desperate. She was desperate to know but desperate to get away, to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor. She couldn't. She couldn't do anything no matter how much her mind urged her on.

And so, out of desperation, she flung herself toward Carmilla and hugged her.

She didn't want to hug her but she did.

She didn't like her but something would always keep her coming back.

She didn't miss her but something deep inside gave her doubts.

Nastya could only cling to her with such desperation for so long. She didn't need to. Something tore her away from Carmilla.

A shot. Loud, ringing in her ears. It overcame the static and was mind-numbingly painful.

Nastya let herself collapse; she didn't need to know who shot her — he'd done it out of some sense that she was in mortal danger. She'd been torn away from Carmilla and picked up by Jonny then, and then they were running, running far away from her.

“I'm sorry —” He'd said then immediately cut himself off. An echo immediately followed. “I'm... _sorry_.”

She couldn't exactly reassure herself — how could she when she was dying? Something did tell her in the back of her mind that she was safe, and so she smiled, closed her eyes, and let that all-too-familiar darkness overtake her.

* * *

Nastya then leaves that bar carrying his body back through the town. Her footsteps tracked blood behind her, and she was covered with it — hers and others; there was way too much of the latter.

She left nobody alive there — she sought no need to after what had happened. Yet that didn't make her happy. There was no catharsis in meaningless slaughter, though for a person like her one could argue otherwise.

It didn't feel... _good_. It made her sick somehow that the residents of that asteroid town now looked upon her with fear in their eyes, how they cowered away should she dare to look upon them. It made her sick that she felt nothing back towards them, how she made no move to help them, instead carrying her dead brother along to a resting place she would have preferred than some goddamn bar. It made her sick how much she disregarded them.

Everything just... _hurt_.

She wanted to collapse; she couldn't until she got to the ship. It was just at the end of the main street. Within distance — though it was hard, counting the dragging of her legs and the dead weight in her arms.

The world spun. She'd lost too much blood herself — she was too dizzy.

Nobody offered to help her even with glances of pity. They shied away and hid in the houses. They feared her. They knew what she did, the whole story with just one glance. They saw the blood she left behind from that fight. They saw Jonny in her arms and they just knew.

She didn't care. The ship was close. She was right there, doors open to let Nastya back in.

Nastya picked up her pace, stumbling. There was a brief moment of relief as her last step just barely drags her through the doors.

Then everything hits her all at once, and she collapses to the floor, on her knees. She doesn't let go of Jonny, yet instead holds him tighter, closer to her.

_We'll get you back, I promise. We promised we'd keep each other safe. We said we would..._

* * *

Another death in her immortality was nothing more than a faint memory, one of swirling and fragmented details, yet for some odd reason, she had kept it in her mind with some significance.

In her mind, she could... remember the pain, the ringing in her ears, her body collapsing to the floor.

It was her brother who had done it — some years-old payback that was even fainter.

She'd been aware the whole time she'd been dying — something Carmilla had implemented, most likely, though she never had found out. Nastya knew that Jonny immediately had regretted it, but instead of helping, he'd fled, though there was no alibi he could come up with that would acquit him of his crime.

Jonny had fled, but he didn't linger away for long, returning for her in what felt like an eternity later. He'd taken her to the engine room and held her in his arms until she'd died there among the warmth.

It was the Aurora who had awoken her, and she had found herself alone. Jonny had left her — or had been forced to leave her there. She never found him in the ship after she'd gotten up, so she had assumed the worst and waited at the airlock.

He'd not returned until what one would consider nightfall, and even then, Nastya had fallen asleep upon the floor, using her coat as a pillow.

She had known that he'd stayed there until some unknown force called him away. The next thing she remembered, however, were his screams.

* * *

She laid him upon the floor and waited longer. Nastya flicked away the blood on her hands and it scattered upon the floor like crimson and silver rain.

She needed a change of clothing, and her coat needed mending — again; she looked upon the large tear in the leg with some disdain — but she would wait for Jonny to come back, and then she could worry about fixing her clothing — if she could find needle and thread.

She could ask the Doctor when they got back. She could fix her coat. That could be repaired. That was easy.

_Could Jonny? Could he come back? Would he?_

She hated thinking about it. In fact, she hated thinking about everything. She wanted the world to go away. She wanted to just —

 _If I may... Could I potentially... Ask a question?_ The ship broke into her thoughts.

Nastya, annoyed, took off her coat and threw it aside. “Go ahead.”

_I know you're... immortal and all, but... he's like you, I can tell. But can't you die —_

“I thought we already went through this.” Her voice was cold.

_No, I mean... can you die permanently?_

_Permanently?_

They were immortal — there was nothing 'permanent' about death in their case. Of course, though, she had admittedly thought about it at times, though each time she'd immediately shoved it to the back of her mind and dared herself to never think about it again.

But there was a chance that their mechanisms would fail them, yes, but as she'd thought of before, she didn't expect that to happen for a long time. She shoved away the thought, wanted to deny it. There was still a chance that Jonny would come back.

 _No. Face the goddamn reality, Nastya._ It took everything in her power to keep her from slapping herself. _There is no coming back._

The reality was that Jonny would lie forever, cold and dead... Broken. Far too damaged. The mechanism that had kept him alive for so many millennia, through so many wars and fights and so many pointless deaths, had broken, shattered.

 _Hope Carmilla likes it that her handiwork has failed her..._ Nastya tried to laugh it off, but all that came to her throat were choked sobs. _I hope she's so goddamn proud of it._

 _He's not coming back. Jonny's not coming back. He'll_ never _be coming back._

Upon that realization, that simple thought, Nastya, lonelier than anyone else in the universe, fell back onto the floor and wept.

* * *

He couldn't find her, and that was typical. She would always hide somewhere — where not even the sharpest eye could find her — when she was truly distressed; that brave face she carried around him could only stay front for so long; she would never cry in front of him — _hell_ , she wouldn't cry in front of anyone, and that didn't matter much.

When he'd found her, she'd been crying, and for a while, judging from the dried tear stains on her cheeks. He'd hurried to her and immediately she'd clung to him. When he asked her what happened, all she could manage was another choked reply which he couldn't understand.

“You heard me screaming, didn't you?”

She only nods.

“Nas — I...”

“ _Don't_ call me that.”

“Alright.” His tone did not suggest indignance he himself perhaps hoped. “I'm sorry. But hey... I'm fine.”

She peered up at him. Jonny spotted the barest hints of a reassured smile, but she visibly shrunk and sniffed again.

He bent down and attempted to meet her gaze but found the task nearly impossible — he didn't mind that. Just a talk would have been enough to work something out.

“You know what?”

She seems to regain some interest. The sadness in her eyes was gone — it was as if it was never there — yet her voice shakes. “ _What_?”

“I say... I know this is... Severely out of character for me but... We're siblings.”

“I know that.” She said indignantly.

“So, we have to protect each other.”

“I will kill you if I'm not dreaming.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He said. “You're not and don't be surprised about it.”

“Then remind me to kill you later.”

“Fair enough. You get my point though, don't you?”

Nastya nodded; she smiled a bit but it faded when she saw he was still looking at her.

He opened his mouth to speak but was called away. Carmilla needed him for something new, he supposed.

So so left her there to wait for him, but had turned back and smiled. Words — their promise unspoken — lingered on his tongue, but he hoped his sister knew what he had meant to say.

_He hoped she'd keep her promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. Was busy today.  
> Happy three months to this fan fic, though through an unfortunate chapter. 😔


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just leave me alone...
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> Cw/tw: Death, unreality/mild dissociation, fighting, implied suicidal ideation, (This chapter is heavy on the topic of death and unreality in general, just as a fair warning.)

She's long since run out of energy to cry, though remains on the floor... waiting. In silence — or relatively silently — the ship returned to that library; Nastya didn't even know until after the announcement was made.

_Now we just have to wait for him to get inside._

Nastya rose from the floor and wiped the last remaining tears off her face. She didn't reply, though what she would have said hung in the air and made it too heavy to breathe.

She knew she'd broken her promise to the Doctor, even though that was the intention in the first place — she'd broken it in the worst possible way. She knew the Doctor would understand regardless, but finding a corpse upon the ship floor... There was sure there was some explaining to do then.

Unfortunately, that wasn't much time after that, though, as there was a hurried knock on the door. “I took a bit longer than I was supposed to, but I'm back.”

_Should I —_

“Let him in...” Nastya dizzily stared at the floor. She didn't pay attention as the doors whirred open, only until the Doctor strode in, then she stared at him and waited for his reaction.

“Alright, so...” He shut the doors behind him and waltzed over toward the console I'm back and we should get going before security gets me for—” He froze when he turned to direct his attention toward Nastya. “Uh, who's that?”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “So... I don't suppose you remember my brother.”

“ _Quite clearly_...” He said — there was obvious disdain in his voice, even if he attempted to hide it from Nastya. “But I don't remember him being... _Dead_... On my ship's floor.”

“I don't think you're supposed to.”

“I'll just...” He waved a hand mindlessly and turned back toward the console. “I'll just leave before security gets to the ship, and you can explain everything on the way.”

“There's a lot to explain, Doctor.”

“Especially the fact that there's a dead man on the floor of my ship?”

“ _Doctor_.”

“Yes, Nastya...” He pulls a lever, and the ship jerks slightly. When it steadies again, the Doctor sighs and takes his scarf off to toss it aside. “Also, you specifically said you weren't going to get into trouble, which includes taking off while I'm busy with important matters.”

“Alright, yes. Fuck it. I lied.” Each word from her mouth was enunciated more bluntly than the last. “Consider where I come from, Doctor. Or has it not crossed your goddamn mind even once that... Doctor.” She points at herself. “ _Space pirate._ I'm possibly the least trustworthy person you'll meet in your sorry little life.”

“I think I got the memo.” He replied coldly, leaning heavily over the console and staring at her — there was no emotion in him other than his words. “But it doesn't give you a _goddamn_ excuse to go running off.”

“I don't need you scolding me like I'm some _fucking_ child, Doctor.” Nastya rose to her feet only to immediately fall back to her knees. “I know what I've done wrong.”

The Doctor opened his mouth as though to protest, though then it seemed to dawn on him that what she'd said might have been right. “Can't... trust leaving anyone alone anymore. They'll just... get some goddamned idea —”

 _It wasn't just her idea, Doctor_. The apparition materialized suddenly before him, and the Doctor flinched away. _It was mine as well._

“Guess I can't trust my ship either.” He then laughs humorlessly. “ _Wow_ , can't I trust anyone here?”

Tension-filled silence entered the air. The Doctor shook his head over and over again and occasionally would lean heavily upon the console, which would creak and both Nastya and the apparition would flinch and one of them would protest audibly before the Doctor snapped at them.

Nastya, guilt-ridden, kept staring down toward Jonny's expressionless face. She didn't like how it looked. It looked All Wrong to her. He was one of the most expressive people she knew; he rarely went without some sort of chaotic version of emotion on his face. Even in his many deaths, he always wore a triumphant and chaotic smile — she would have expected him to keep it when he died permanently.

It... didn't feel fair in the least.

“Right,”

Nastya jerked away from her thoughts. The Doctor was leaning back upon the console — the apparition was hanging back with a particularly pained expression on her face; she felt that and Nastya didn't like it but didn't protest toward the Doctor, instead waiting for a reply.

“I need something specific explained to me.” He'd calmed down considerably; in fact, he looked to be sulking — his form was more shrunken in on itself, and his arms were crossed and occasionally he would tug at his sleeves.

Nastya sent a glance to the apparition, then to him. Nonverbally she waved at him, then pointed at the apparition. Immediately he stood away from the console and sighed quite loudly.

“What would you want me to explain?” Her words were cold, emotionless.

“Right... I know you died back on Sveitha. I saw you come back like that death never happened. If he's your brother as you so claim —” The words are moving faster than his brain, judging by the way he cuts himself off and briefly pinches his nose. “If he's your brother, what makes this death any different?”

“Something was keeping him alive and... immortal, like me.” Nastya glanced down at his body again, avoiding the Doctor's gaze. “For him, it was his heart, while for me, it's my... blood. It... Gets complicated and I would rather not explain... For... _Reasons_ , but I suppose whatever killed him... _permanently_.... damaged his mechanism — the thing keeping him working, for lack of a better word. Maybe it's something else but that's the cause with the highest probability.”

She brushed away a short lock of his hair; her hands were shaking again and her work was a mess. Her hands leave behind silver streaks upon his forehead. “Guess we even lie to ourselves sometimes...” She directs the question at Jonny. “Don't we?”

Of course, as corpses usually do, he didn't respond. She didn't want him to, whether he was alive or not, but she somehow longed for some snarky retort as he did whenever he came back. The answer to that was clear enough, and she hated it the more she thought of it.

The Doctor did not reply, and the way he glanced at his feet that would rather not. However, a single word came out of his mouth — a question.

“Immortal?”

“Yes. What, did me dying and coming back not give you any message?” She snapped back.

“No, I just... Yeah, it admittedly never crossed my mind. Then again, I don't ever recall you saying anything about it before.”

“I just... ” Painfully, Nastya stared at the floor. “ _God_ , I... People don't stick around and listen to what you have to say. People die and everyone goes off on their merry way like it's just some goddamned obstacle. They don't...” Her gaze traveled back to Jonny's body, still peacefully motionless on the floor. “Fucking look at themselves. They always wondered why I preferred talking to machines rather than them, why I never went with them on anything, why I stayed behind with Aurora, and then this thing happens. _They all fucking die_.”

Fuming, she found herself shaking; she took several deep breaths to calm herself, stood, and turned away from his body. “I'm going to... go be alone.”

The Doctor didn't give a protest, but a squeal died in his throat as though he was going to. Nastya sent him a backward glare and hurried to the door.

* * *

She slumped over behind the door and repeatedly banged her head back against it. She didn't care if the Doctor heard her. She didn't care — he had made it very clear that he didn't listen to what she said in the first place.

Nobody listened to her anymore. Jonny didn't — and couldn't — and the Doctor was off in his merry little world, where he only heard what he wanted and didn't care what anyone else thought.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. Nastya grumbled before forcing out a tired, “ _What_?”

“What are we going to do about your brother here?” His voice grew unusually quiet. “You just... Kinda stormed off and... Left him there... On the floor.”

“Well,” She removed any emotion from her voice. “I guess... He has to be taken somewhere... To be buried.” Nastya sat back down upon the floor. “We can't just leave a... corpse lying here.”

“Fair...” The Doctor murmured from behind the door. “God, the first time I meet someone you know and they're dead.”

“ _Doctor_...”

“Did I say that aloud?”

“Yes.” Nastya forced the annoyance down her throat. “Find someplace, and then just... Leave me alone.”

She paused, her mouth hanging open, but decided against speaking.

The Doctor retreated away from the door minutes later. It was only seconds — or felt like only seconds later that the ship jerked slightly under Nastya's feet, and she had to press herself back against the door to keep herself from sliding. When it jerked again, she nearly ran into the door frame, but yelped and caught herself, though didn't stop herself from shouting a string of curses, which the Doctor clearly heard, for there then came impatient grumbling directed toward her.

“You know, if you would rather not crash into the door,” He restrained his tone but it still squealed from behind the doorway. “I would rather suggest you join me out here.”

Nastya sighs, biting back a retort.

But she mutters an inaudible, “Fine,” and stands again. She flinches when she turns to open the door, but she doesn't fully understand why she does before she shoves the thought to the back of her mind

It's only when she enters the control room that he speaks again, though he's much quieter than before.

“Texas, America, Earth — take your pick of that information. I would say around late 1878. Probably the most appropriate place I could find where you'd be unbothered. Trust me, personal experience, digging in a cemetery is frowned upon, especially if you showed up out of nowhere.”

 _Was that meant to be funny?_ Nastya kept the remark to herself.

 _I think he's trying to cope._ The ship replied, emotionless. _It's not every day a corpse gets dragged into the control room._

_That 'corpse' is my brother._

_Fair enough..._

Nastya sighed; she crossed her arms after the door shut behind her and sent another resentful glance toward Jonny, who still lay peacefully on the floor, undisturbed by anything but death.

She looked away and pulled a face. Something short of jealousy was then what prompted her to speak again.

“Are you sure this place is appropriate?”

“Mm?” The Doctor stared back up from the controls. “Oh... yeah... At least I... At least I think so.”

He paused. “Do you want me to help you?”

Her reply comes before he's finished — “ _No_.”

It's a tad blunt and she knows it immediately by the look upon the Doctor's face and the way he flinched ever so slightly. She drags out a sigh the flattens the silence in the room, and pads over to pick up Jonny from the floor.

The Doctor opens the door from where he stood at the controls and avoids her gaze as she walks out in silence.

* * *

She dug the grave by herself, with there in the blazing heat; the Doctor was watching from a distance; she could see him out of the corner of her eye often reaching out as it to help her, but shaking his head.

She didn't care much. This was too personal of a matter for him to be involved in and she'd already dismissed him from it multiple times, and in hindsight, more times than not she was rather rude about it, which she didn't know whether to have remorse over or not. Instead, she chose to feel nothing, nothing until the grave was dug and he was buried and she covered him for the last time. Even when she collapsed on her knees and the Doctor rushed over to her did she feel nothing — and of course, she pushed him away again and told him to leave her alone.

He reluctantly complied and disappeared into the ship, but left the doors open whenever she would decide to return.

It wouldn't be for a while

Nastya just sat there, upon the bare dirt, occasionally glancing around to avoid looking at the gravesite.

Yet there was nothing but sand and barren earth for miles. Desolate and she hated it. She could only look back upon the grave and wonder how forgotten it was. She wouldn't even remember it the moment she stepped back upon that ship.

But, Jonny had always desired some barren final resting place, even if he finally went out in some blaze of homicidal glory — glory that didn't seem as he described. Glory more described the barren sand below her feet, the barren sand where he'd forever lay and no longer lay waste to planets as he so often had.

Nastya never thought much of her brother in such high-minded terms. Plenty of his actions in their first few thousand years of knowing each other had been mostly out of that one promise they'd made to protect each other — too many times she could count ended up in either one of them dying.

She kept the promise they'd made, at least, in the end.

But she had cried enough.

She doesn't feel a thing as she stands to turn away from his grave, and she walks silently back to the ship. The doors shut behind her, and she thinks nothing more of it.

* * *

The Doctor never bothers her as she walks coldly through the control room, nor did he protest when she locked the hallway door behind her. She didn't know whether it was her boots or the Doctor working at the controls that made the distant tapping noise that rung emptily about in her head. As usual, she didn't care. It was all noise in the end. All noise like the constant ringing in her ears.

She needed somewhere quiet... The control room was too loud, even when the Doctor was silent.

No, it would not be the impossible room, either. There was the wind that always blew and the sounds of birds that should not exist and too much other noise. It couldn't be that place, either.

The last choice was the bedroom across the hall from that impossible room, and there she went, shutting the door quietly behind her.

And still, she hesitated. She was alone now and had everything in her power to show how she truly felt.

But she couldn't force herself to feel anything, no matter how deep down she reached within her mind, she could never bring herself to feel anything. Even when she turned to slide down and bang her head against the door she could not bring herself to feel anything.

 _No_.

What was this?

A spark of emotion?

Did she suddenly feel something again?

She wasn't sure, but when she stared at her hands they were shaking. She was shaking — shivering. She didn't have her coat and she was cold but she wasn't even sure it was that. She was sure it was something different entirely.

Nastya rested her hands in her lap and stared dumbly across the room. The violin still rested on the side table, where she had left it after the last time she'd played.

Perhaps she could play it again. Perhaps that would prompt some emotion.

She shook her head, and, shaking, rose from the floor; she stumbled to the table but carefully picked up her violin and bow. Gently, she held it in her arms as though it was made of glass, and hurried out the door and across the hall.

* * *

She couldn't bring herself to play. No matter how much she tried to steady herself, the bow always scraped unsteadily against the strings and left a sharp, grating noise in her ears. She couldn't play, even if the wind of the impossible room carried her music. No matter how much she internally begged and pleaded for it to work, no emotion was ever summoned.

She just... _couldn't play_. Not in a mindset like this.

Instead, she buried herself in the grass; the cold on her back was enough to calm her from her previous fit. Her violin dropped from her hands and she showed it away, just out of arm's reach.

She didn't want it anymore. Even just touching it gave off a sour note, a terrible taste that burned her mouth. The ship had given it to her, and now she wanted the ship to take it away. She couldn't bother to pick it up to make that plea — maybe the ship would understand somehow.

 _Understand_.

She picked up the bow and repeated the word — at least she could stand holding the bow, though her hand was shaking.

 _So you've buried him._ The interruption was sudden. The calm breeze carried the ship's voice — the apparition didn't appear herself. _Already you're seeming to regret it._

“I'm not.” Nastya stared down at the bow in her hand.

She was lying to everyone — fuck, she was lying to herself. The ship was right and even if she wanted to verbally deny it she couldn't, other than those two words.

_You've already forgotten about it, haven't you?_

“I'm trying to,” Nastya looked up but her gaze couldn't fixate on a single thing. “No thanks to you, I'm back on that bullshit.”

No reply came, but the wind picked up and nearly pushed Nastya over.

“Yeah, fine. I get it.” Nastya narrowed her eyes. “I can't stop thinking about it, and that's my goddamn fault. Maybe, just... Maybe I could go back, and —”

_You can't change the timeline, Nastya... Believe me, a sensible person knows that._

“You're not saying I'm —”

 _No_. The ship said — the winds sharply changed direction. _It's too complex to explain. I know you traveled in a time ship before —_

“ _Aurora_ wasn't _just_ a ship.” Nastya bared her teeth but bit back a further retort. “And I know what consequences there are to messing with a timeline. _I. Don't. Care_.”

_It could get tangled, Nastya. You could die, and I don't mean temporarily. Permanently. Are you willing to risk —_

“ _Yes_.” She pulled the violin into her lap and she stared at it wistfully. “I'm willing to risk it to see him again. To hell with it I guess.”

_You can't change —_

“The timeline.” Nastya snapped. “ _Bullshit_. Fucking. Bullshit. I can...”

_But you won't._

The wind picked up steadily but settled as Nastya replied.

“But, considering what you're saying... I won't.” She pushed the violin out of her lap and gently kicked it away. Only the bow remained in her hand. “I don't go back to interfere and everything remains the same... God, you're so... Goddamn...” She closed her hand into a fist and the bow splintered slightly. “So goddamn stupid.”

Me _? You were the one who suggested a trip in the first place._

“But you were the one who listened to me and took me there.”

_I asked if you wanted to leave and you blatantly said no._

The words died in Nastya's throat. She clutches the bow tighter and it splinters even more — she's surprised that it hasn't broken yet.

 _You could have avoided all of this and said yes and I would have gladly taken you somewhere far away from that place — far away from Cyberia if I could recall. Just... Say the word and we'll leave. It was implied that I said that and... You. Said._ No.

“You're right.” Nastya stood, laughing. “You're right. I'm the stupid one for not saying no, but you're in the wrong for taking me there in the first place.”

The apparition materialized and yanked Nastya close by her shirt collar.

_Stop that. Do you realize how nonsensical you're sounding?_

“Yes. But I'm _fine_ , aren't I?”

 _Hardly. You're not listening when you should be. You're only hearing what you want to, Nastya. His death is making you act like you're not yourself_.

“Yeah, and maybe if you think about it, _maybe_ it's not just his.”

The apparition drew away from Nastya and let go of her; though no emotion was shown upon her face, anger was alight in her eyes. The wind had picked up to a gale like gust and didn't die even as the ship spoke again.

 _Ah, Aurora. Hers too_. There was a pause where an uncomfortable breeze filled the silence. _Perhaps I fell for you too soon, then. You're clearly not over her yet._

“ _Maybe_ ,” Nastya spat back over the wind. “Maybe I'm not over Aurora's death yet. Maybe... Maybe I just need time... Maybe I just... think about it...”

 _If it so_ pleases _you_.

She turned away and vanished. The wind dropped suddenly and was silent.

 _No_. Nastya immediately came to her senses. _No no no no no. Not like... like that._ She got to her feet. _Don't you_ fucking _disappear. Don't do that to me, please. Especially not now._ She drops the bow in the grass and rushes toward where the apparition once stood. There's nothing, not a single sign that she'd been there at all.

Not even the wind blew, the impossible birds wouldn't sing. It was just... silence. Nastya tried picking up her violin and her bpw and playing it but now the sound wouldn't come no matter how much she would try to coax it. She still couldn't play, couldn't focus. Her mind was all angry and suffering and she wanted to let it out somehow but this wasn't it.

No.

She could go somewhere else.

Just not here.

* * *

She tried to keep the door from slamming behind her, but the deed had already been done. However, she restrains herself from any intrusive impulses and slid down the door. A string of Cyberian curses was forced from her mouth; every single blasphemous thing she could think of was spat and thrown into the air and never thought of again.

Nastya hoped that the ship could hear her — she wanted the ship to hear her, and know that she was mad.

 _No_.

Mad didn't feel like it fit.

She couldn't find any appropriate word to describe this odd mental and emotional suffering and rage that she wanted to take out on anyone and everyone, including herself. She wanted the ship to feel every single part of it.

 _Maybe_.

Maybe it was just her that wanted to feel something. Maybe it was her that wanted to ship to feel something because she wanted to feel something. All this ‘maybe’... Could there perhaps be a definite reason in there somewhere... Somewhere amongst this chaos?

Nastya shoved the thought away and almost sprang to her feet.

_Control room._

She could go there. She could go there and pretend nothing happened.

If it would work that way, the Doctor would suspect nothing. Only in a perfect world would the Doctor believe here, even if her distress was obvious.

She knew he was smarter than that. He wasn't the brightest at times but he wasn't stupid, either. Maybe that's why she'd trusted him in the first place, but she didn't know entirely. She could ask him later when this all blew over.

For now, going to the control room was her best bet.

* * *

Or it wasn't.

As Nastya had entered, the Doctor looked up from his work at the controls and greeted her with a half-hearted smile. She dashed him off immediately and he went back to his work, but only for a moment.

“Nastya, is everything —”

She shuts the door and interrupts him.

“Fine... I'm _fine_.”

Immediately she regretted the words, as he looked back down and slumped heavily over the controls. Again, this lasted for hardly a moment when he glanced up again, eyes narrowed in a judgemental glare.

She laughed at it, of course, but it was an empty, lonely, forced laugh. “Just... Need to get a hold of myself and move on from this. It will be... easy enough.”

“Nastya...” He falters with a drawn-out sigh. The glare disappears from his eyes. “Nastya, please, just... I need to know what's going on.”

“ _No_ ,” She turned away from him.

As she reminded herself yet again — the Doctor wasn't stupid, but there was no way in hell that she was letting him see how fucked up she was from that fight, how much she wanted to break but couldn't, how much she just wanted to collapse on the floor and feel nothing for the rest of eternity. “No, you don't need to know. You need to just... fuck off, and leave me alone.” Nastya spat bitterly. She fought back against the tears in her eyes. “Just... Just fuck off. This is your fault. You should have just left me floating in space. None of this would have happened if you would have just left me alone.”

“Nas —” His tone suggested confusion more than anything.

“Don't...” She turned back, making sure that he could see her distress. “Don't _fucking_ call me that.”

“Then tell me what's wrong.”

“ ** _No_**.” She bites her tongue, but the tears are unable to be held back now. “No. I... I want just... I want to be left alone. I don't need your fucking sympathy. Please.”

She laughs briefly though she knows from before that the Doctor can see how she truly feels. There's something in her head that's buzzing and it's not the ringing in her ears. Perhaps she was feeling too much. Perhaps she was feeling too little again. Perhaps it was the absence of the reassurance in her mind. Perhaps her mind was too conflicted on which matters were which and how she was contradicting herself in every which way and she didn't know whether to believe anyone and even herself.

Maybe... Maybe it was all of those things and none of those things.

“I should probably go lie down.”

“Please...” The Doctor's tone is filled to the brim with pity — Nastya could almost see the tears forming in his eyes... almost. She doesn't know what to feel about it herself, and turns away from him, baring her teeth to keep any further scathing words down her throat.

_Just leave me alone._

* * *

Nastya keeps herself from slamming the door again, but takes her coat off and tosses it carelessly on the floor. When she passes by the side table, she finds the violin there, along with the still-splintered bow. She reaches out to grab the bow, but something repels her and she reels back in near disgust.

_Don't want it. Don't want the bow. Don't want the violin._

Sighing, Nastya sits down on the bed. For a while there, she stares blankly at what's on the side table, then shakes her head and lays down. The lights immediately shut off, flooding the room with darkness — Nastya is left watching the dark of the ceiling.

For the first time, in a long time, as she closes her eyes, her mind is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if there's any continuity errors. I looked through and there didn't appear to be any so I think I got allot them, but if there are some, I apologize. I also greatly apologize for the angst. It shall get lighthearted soon. Promise.
> 
> But hey, last update of 2020! I shall see you guys will Chapter 10 on January 13th! Happy New Year!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars shatter at the thunder of his guns.
> 
> ~~~  
> Cw/tw: Character death (temporary and permanent), mentions of blood and injury, heavily implied violence, dissociation, mention/discussion of past trauma, brief mention of suicide
> 
> ~~~  
> To note: In CC, Tim alternates between he, they, and xe pronouns.

Nothing.

Only the empty echo of thoughts. Empty mind. Darkness.

Where was she?

“Nastya?” The echo wasn't from her thoughts. Someone was knocking on the door. “Nastya, are you in there?”

She held her tongue, though she glanced in the direction of where the doors were — or at least where she thought they were. The lights gradually brightened and the door slid open.

She knew it was Tim before her eyes focused to the light. He had a gun in his hand — as per the usual — but was watching her with concern.

“I'm here,” Nastya mutters half-heartedly. “What do you want?”

“We've landed.” They said. “Are you coming or staying here again?”

Nastya gets to her feet and sighs shakily. “It depends.” She forces her voice flat. “What's the situation?”

“I dunno, They said, and Nastya found that there was genuine confusion in their voice. “Jonny found some other planet again. Said you might like to check it out.”

“Why me specifically?”

Tim shrugs. The confusion doesn't leave his tone. “Dunno. He just said he needed you. I mean, last time that happened, we destroyed an entire fucking planet,” They laughed as they said this. “So that would make sense.”

“Yeah.” She bit her tongue. “Tell him I'll be there in a moment.”

Tim only nods and turns on his heel to leave. The door slams behind them and Nastya shakes her head. She sits back on the floor and rests her chin in her hands.

“Give them time. They'll all eventually forget they ever asked me.”

 _You don't mind that, though, do you?_ Asks Aurora, breaking the brief silent interval between her thoughts. _They get to burn down a planet and kill themselves in the process._

“They're _idiots_.” Nastya smiled mostly to herself. “Don't usually get caught in the mix. I die and the next thing is they're all worried about me and making sure I'm fine though I'm literally immortal.”

_That's reasonable._

Again, silence followed. Nastya sighed to break it, brief as it had been.

“I should go check on them.”

_That'd be best. I'm afraid_ _Jonny's_ _pushed Carmilla out of an airlock — again — and he's started a shootout. Tim's already on the floor, dead of course. Ashes is attempting to start a fire though they've not left. I can't find Brian, and Ivy is... reading, as per the usual._

“Right...” Nastya gets back to her feet. “I'll be right there. I guess.”

* * *

Her coat was hanging on the railing as she entered the room. It hadn't been fixed, and when she picked it up, she pondered the large tear with some humor.

She'd earned that in the bar fight — protecting Jonny, of course, while she waited in vain for him to wake up. Someone there had decided it would be a good idea to break a window and use that as a weapon while she was distracted.

Of course, wound someone in the leg and one would have pretty much killed them, which of course, someone did.

That had earned a surprise well-earned. Nobody expects someone to come back from a death as brutal as that... Especially as brutal as _that_.

She shivered at the memory and threw on her coat half-heartedly as she joined the Doctor beside the central control. The Doctor must have sensed whatever tense aura had been coming off of her, and he'd hurried away without a word... off to what Nastya knew what very likely the library.

Though thoroughly annoyed at the repeated routine, Nastya was also admittedly grateful for his disappearance — there was no way that she was going to let him see her should she break down.

However, whatever outcome or possibility she'd thought of wasn't true, as the Doctor had suddenly come back hardly minutes later and knelt before her.

“Here,” He held out a needle and thread — something she knew he'd decided to fetch though Nastya had not asked for them. “Your coat is ripped, and I thought...”

Grumbling she took it from his hands and walked to sit in the corner of the room. The Doctor dismissed himself from the room again to go check on the library — of course. Nastya knew that, had he stayed any longer, he would have picked up talking and would have likely never stopped.

She took off her coat and began working.

* * *

“I Don't Suppose You Need This?”

Nastya looked up from examining her coat sleeve, where it had ripped on an open door. She recognized the owner of the hand holding out the thread to her.

Gratefully, she took it and nodded. “Thank you.”

It smiles, then the smile fades, only to be replaced with an expression akin to concern. “Is Everything Alright?”

“Yes,” Nastya replies. “Just thinking.”

She grabs the needle from beside her and quickly threads it.

“Oh. Should I Ask, What About?”

“Nothing. Just probably how I'm going to kill whoever tore my coat.” She holds her coat up to show the damage, a rip in the left shoulder.

“I Do Think I Know But He Swore Off His Identity So You Wouldn't Kill Him.”

“It was Tim, wasn't it?”

The figure nods quite gleefully.

“Lord God, _for the last time_ —” She drops her coat onto the floor. “I'm going to — God, don't... Don't tell Tim I found out, TS. God, that would be — ”

“Are You Going To Surprise Him?” It tilts its head like a curious puppy.

Nastya picks up her coat again. She doesn't immediately reply but smiles slightly. “Swear not to tell him?”

It makes a sound akin to a laugh. “I Always Keep My Promises!”

“Well then,” Again, Nastya hesitates. “You wouldn't mind going and finding them, would you?”

The Toy Soldier shakes its head, and that smile remains on its face when she glances back up at it.

“Gladly!”

Nastya shakes her head with a small chuckle, picks up the needle and thread, and resumes her work.

* * *

So there she sat, quietly, upon the floor, with a sewing needle and some thread, impatiently working through the thick material of her coat. Her work was slow as her hands were shaking, and once every while she set her coat down in frustration, and she tried to not break down crying over the most trivial thing.

Eventually, she ties off the last thread and attempts to set the needle down, but it pricks her finger. She hisses as the first drop of quicksilver drips to the floor. It isn't much, but she drops her coat and attempts not to ruin her mood any further.

She stands, abandoning the coat, and heads for the console. Leaning over it, she takes in a breath, then another to steady herself more.

She lifts her hand from the console — the needle prick was healed, but what still remained was that minuscule amount of quicksilver upon her hand that had nearly sent her spiraling.

_I need... I... He's gone._

She wants to deny it again. She wants him back, though she never will see him again.

_He's gone. Don't deny it. You've got to get over it — please, he's gone._

It is the one thing, that one repeated realization that breaks her, that tides over the one thing she'd kept held back. Nastya collapses beside the console, clinging onto its railing. One sob choked its way out of her throat, then another, then became uncontrollable. She hopes that the Doctor does not hear her, that he's off in the library doing whatever he was bound to do.

After a long while, she is no longer able to cry, and her sobs are dry and rasping. She lays on the floor and after a minute or so, abruptly stops; she closes her eyes and tries to will the feeling away. Her breath shudders and she silences herself.

After a while, she sits up, and laughs for a quick moment, then grabs the console railing and hoists herself back up to her feet. She is unfeeling for a long while, staring blankly at the console.

Eventually, she decides to leave and heads to find the Doctor.

* * *

He's in his usual spot in the commons, watching out the window like a silent watcher over the universe.

At first, Nastya is hesitant to bother him, until he sighs and leans over the window.

“I suppose you're escaping whatever hell is going on out there.”

“I'm... thinking, I suppose.”

Nastya follows his gaze and peers out the window — in the distance, a moon, dimly lit by a distant sun, shown amongst the stars. Instantly, she knew what their thoughts were on, and why he appeared much calmer than he usually was. It was always a moon — could be any moon and not Earth's in particular — that brought up something in Tim.

Violence, to him, became a thing of the past; he despised it like a vampire despised sunlight. It was... unlike them.

“It's been quite a while.” She said. “I don't suppose you're thinking about going out and —”

“No war. No need.” Tim replied, silently — the statement was likely meant for themself, though Nastya couldn't find the self-assuring statement completely true. “Plus, there are plenty of other moons I could blow up. Hell, I would go on a rampage if I could.”

“I won't stop you.”

Xe doesn't laugh. When Tim turns to finally fix a stare at her, they're more solemn than anything. For a moment, neither of them say anything, but then Tim sits on the windowsill and sighs.

“Do you ever think we're just... going to die... Someday?”

“Do you mean permanently?” Nastya bites her tongue to keep herself from adding on to her question. She fixes the sleeves of the gray dress she was wearing, and, after a moment, nods. “It's inevitable, I would guess. With Carmilla gone, there's a slight chance in the distant future that without her constant... _improvements_...” She hesitates on the word, wondering if it was an appropriate word to say. She decides it was, because, admittedly, without Carmilla, none of them would be here in the first place.

She does pause — Tim spares her a glance before she summons up the courage to speak again.

“Someday, without Carmilla... whatever is keeping us alive will fail and —”

“I think that's enough information for me to understand.” They laugh in response. “I guess I better get preparing. Go out in a blaze of _fucking_ glory.”

Nastya says nothing, though shakes her head. Tim is also silent and gazes back out at the moon.

When he appears to have nothing more to say, Nastya retreats into the hallway. She shuts the door and leaves them there for a while.

Though she herself was silent, her thoughts are not.

* * *

Nastya hopes to relieve those thoughts by talking to someone, but when she strode into the library, she found the Doctor nose deep in a book. When she snaps her fingers, he doesn't respond, and, with her temper short, she stomps over to him and grabs him by the scarf.

He drops the book and almost squeaks in annoyance, but he didn't protest as he was dragged outside. Rather he stayed there like a kitten being carried by its mother — even his boots were dragging on the ground, making a grating sound which Nastya didn't like in the least but tolerated anyway.

She'd dragged him back to the control room — there was enough time spent by him in the library to last both of them several lifetimes over.

And when Nastya shuts the door behind then, he finally gets up and heads to the chair, though he sulks more than speaks when he gets there.

“You know, that was quite rude.”

“ _I don't care_ ,” Nastya says flatly, leaning over the railing and glaring at him. “You do realize how... stuck I feel right now. You're being... The most appropriate word I can bring to mind is idiot. You're being an idiot right now and I don't think you care anymore.”

“Maybe you're right.” He's not agreeing with her — the sarcasm is apparent in his tone. “Maybe I'm the irrational one. Maybe I lost my brother and grief isn't making me think straight. Maybe —”

“ _Shut up_.”

He only looks at her. Though he doesn't speak, it is clear that there's something in his eyes — he was likely biting his tongue — but Nastya looks away before she could bring herself to pity him.

“Nastya,” The Doctor sighs after a moment and leans forward in the chair. “I'm sorry I said that.”

“It's fine.” Nastya forces her voice flat. “ _It's fine_. I'll... get over it.”

The Doctor leaned back in the chair, heaving another sigh. He nods, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

Nastya doesn't bother him about it.

* * *

She slumps over in the common area, lingering away from everyone else. The Toy Soldier must have sensed some air of distress, and had gone off — possibly to make tea. Nastya accepted that gratefully when it returned, though she knew tea wasn't one to entirely fix a mood.

And for some reason it watches. She isn't made uncomfortable by its presence, but she didn't drink the tea until it seems to grow to an impatience of sorts.

“Thank you,” Nastya manages to say. When she sets the teacup down, it picks it up and retreats away back down the hall from which it had come.

She stares in confusion for a bit, wondering why it had not spoken, but what she supposes is a conclusion comes to mind, and she goes back to sulking in her lonely corner of the commons.

* * *

“So,” The Doctor gets up from the chair after a while and goes to mess around with the controls. “What now?”

“Hmm?” Nastya glances up — her brain didn't register that he'd spoken. She can't see him clearly from where she sat. “Oh.”

She shrugs and looks down again, and begins messing about with her coat, which lay carelessly tossed into her lap. Nastya goes over its old scars, places where it was ripped and then repaired. Chuckling, Nastya let go of the coat.

_Surprised it isn't threadbare... All that shit I've gone through._

She smiles, though it disappears as the Doctor speaks again.

“Should we... go somewhere?” He comes into clear view of her and leans back against the controls. “After... what's been going on?”

Though Nastya did not reply, the solemn face she pulled she gave a clear enough answer. She nodded after a brief moment to give him a clearer one.

“I guess... we'll go take a break.”

“Mm...”

The Doctor didn't reply to that, though he wanted to — she could see it in the way he hesitated, though his back was turned.

Eventually, however, he gave in and turned from the controls.

“It'll... be good... to take some time off from... serious traveling for a while.”

Nastya nods, though her mind wanders. She doesn't know to what, though she knows there's no focus on anything outward. She picks up her coat, hoping that holding it would ground her somewhat.

It doesn't, but the Doctor brings her into reality several moments later.

“Well, I've found a quiet planet.” He says. “Take a rest, especially after what's been going on.”

“A rest.” Nastya echoes. She hadn't heard that word for quite some time. She manages a smile before something forces it back down and the feeling of numbness returns. “Yes. That will do.”

“Are you doing alright, Nastya?”

She nods again but stares dumbly at the coat in her lap. She crosses her arms and shivers, though just a little; she isn't cold, so she doesn't know why that happened.

“Nastya... We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to.” He leaned back against the console

“No, no. I'll be fine.”

“Alright.” The Doctor murmurs after a brief sigh. He smiles, but when Nastya doesn't return the smile, the expressionless face returned, and he turned back to the controls. “We are here if you'd like to know. It's... the cold season. Much snow... I mean it gets pretty cold so we could leave and go somewhere warmer —”

“ _No_ ,” Nastya interjects; she gets up and grabs her coat. “It's better than anyplace else.”

The Doctor's mouth hangs open as though in reply, but Nastya sends him a glare which silences him.

She throws her coat over her shoulder and leaves the ship.

The Doctor doesn't follow her.

* * *

still sitting on the common room windowsill — alone — when there's a knock on the door. She knows that the person doesn't need to knock to enter — the door would open for them.

“I'm back,” The voice is calm and familiar.

Nastya sneaks a glance but turns away when she realizes who it was. “I pushed Jonny out of the airlock for you. You're welcome.”

The voice laughs, though there is barely any humor behind it. Nastya turns to look at them, and to her, they look amused. She sniffs indignantly, but smiles.

“I suppose that was an amusing time for you, Carmilla...”

“I've gotten used to it.” Carmilla does laugh again, and this time there is humor in her voice, which makes Nastya feel a strange kind of uneasy. “That's... just Jonny.”

Her footsteps approach the window; when Nastya glances at her, she stops a fair distance from the window.

“They've gone out,” Nastya said, flatly. “Burning up another planet. I won't tell them you were here again, especially thinking that you've left permanently. _Again_.”

“Permanent is just a word. Nothing's _ever_ permanent.”

Nastya sends her another — exasperated — glance. She bites her tongue, and thus leaves words hanging in the air.

“Alright.”

Carmilla doesn't say anything for a long while after that.

Eventually, she joins Nastya upon the windowsill. There was barely enough leg room left after that, even if Nastya was curled up. It wasn't comfortable, either, and both of them knew that.

“Looks like Tim stole a spaceship again.” Nastya drew a line across the window, following a small figure dashing across the atmosphere below her. She smiled but didn't laugh as she usually would. “He's gonna end up killing himself.” she paused, before immediately correcting herself. “Permanently, anyway.”

“Not for a long while. You know he's smarter than that.”

Nastya's hand dropped from the window; she leaned her head back and watched Carmilla as her gaze traced the surface of the burning planet from her spot on the window.

“I have to ask something.” Nastya broke the silence when Carmilla's gaze dropped from the window. The woman stared at her in curiosity, silently urging her on.

“This is... going to... sound weird... coming out of my mouth, but... Do you remember that one time I was stuck outside when I was younger? In the snow?”

“Mm...”

“You told Jonny I'd gone back early, then said you were testing me for something —” Nastya bit her tongue, but swallowed uneasily and continued. “Which one was the lie?”

“That I was testing you — I was never testing you — and I do admit... when you got separated from us, I thought you'd gone back inside.”

“How long did it take for you to realize I was still outside?”

Carmilla was silent. Nastya didn't press her, but drew her arms close and shivered at the thought. She knew her perception of time then still wasn't great — she could have been out there hours before they'd dragged her in.

Carmilla watched her, and Nastya watched as a multitude of unspoken thoughts flickers across her face; she eventually reached out — something Nastya knew was meant to be a comforting gesture — but Nastya waved her off.

“Please don't touch me.” She shrunk away and glanced toward the still-burning planet outside. “You've done enough damage already.”

Nastya only received a nod to her statement, though when she stole a glance from the window, she found Carmilla with a sad, understanding smile.

Silently, then, Carmilla leaped from the windowsill. Nastya didn't bother to look as she left.

Carmilla said nothing else, her footsteps stalking away, barely making a dent of sound on the metal floor.

Nastya didn't hear the door shut.

* * *

She locked the door behind her, against the Doctor's new protests. A gust of wind nearly blew her to the ground, but she planted her feet and stood back against the ship until it passed, which wasn't for a while.

When it did, Nastya brushed away stray flakes of snow from her coat — A vain attempt, she knew — and took the stolen opportunity to hurry away.

It was a bit too hard to hurry for long — she couldn't breathe in this air, not with how thin it was. The air was too cold and thin and burned her lungs with every bit of air she took in.

Everything was too cold and too thin and she didn't like it.

But who was she to complain? Everything else hurt so much and this was nothing compared to it. She couldn't — _shouldn't_ — complain. There was no use wasting breath in this thin air, where she was close to choking anyway.

Eventually, she collapses as the snow reaches her ankles, as the freezing wet begins seeping into her boots and her feet began to grow cold. She stares at the sky and marvels at how thin the clouds are despite the wind and snow, how she can see the dying sky and stars beyond, and perhaps the distant blips of passing ships indistinguishable from the dark.

Nastya holds out her hand, but for just a moment. There came a distant hum, above the ringing in her ears, a hum that interrupted her thoughts — a hum of an engine crossing through the atmosphere.

Nastya’s gaze shot through the sky, where she saw — above the thin snow-clouds — a large object streak across it.

She bolted to her feet, and, against the blowing wind, she ran, chasing the figure across the sky.

Nastya knew she wasn't fast enough, regardless of whether there was snow or not. She knew that she would never catch up, no matter how fast she ran, no matter how curious she was to see the results, even with the faintest of hopes. She would never catch up.

Crying out, she tripped over something — a rock, likely — buried in the snow, and fell face-first into the ground. Quickly, Nastya got to her feet and searched the sky for the object, but there was nothing.

Not until she saw the explosion out of the corner of her eye, whirling around on her feet. It's almost blinding though she stood miles away, her feet firmly planted on the ground. What must have been a station of some sort, once a stark sight in the sky — though now indistinguishable from the clouds; Nastya hadn't seen it until now — shattered like glass into countless pieces.

Nastya stood there, frozen for a long while. She feels her hands begin to shake, and it takes so long to steady herself at the realization. A thousand possibilities run through her mind but piecing together what she knew and what memories she had, along with the circumstances and what had been spoken and unspoken.

Only one person would go on a rampage that would be deemed that glorious. Only one person would have that amount of hubris to go on a ' _rampage_ ' such as that — of one could call it a rampage even if she'd seen so little.

Then she almost laughs at those thoughts, shaking her head to dash away the now-oncoming tears.

She knew nobody could survive whatever the hell that was.

This was a planned thing.

She could laugh.

Of course, she knew that the cause of the crash was Tim. It couldn't be much of anyone else, especially with his fixation.

It was often spoken about, his “ _special occasion_ ” — whether he’d openly declared what he’d do when he found himself facing a finality, or whether Nastya overheard him — on accident or whether she'd deliberately eavesdropped. They'd had some weird fascination with death, akin to what Nastya knew Jonny'd had but different in itself as well. What was interesting in itself, though, was that while Jonny had a fixation on killing himself in so many ways, Tim had always had a weird, constant fixation on what would happen if he'd died permanently — and this discussion often landed on how he would go out, then.

He'd always spoken about doing it on his own terms one day — about going out in “a blaze of _fucking_ glory”, as they called it —but that day had never come.

Until now, at least... by Nastya's surmise.

 _Well... at least it happened how you wanted it to — upon your own terms._ She laughs briefly before her mind returns to shock.

And there, in shock, she stands there a while, her brain ticking until she could bring herself to process the truth, to bring herself to move. It could have easily been a long while before she was able to feel anything again, to feel how much the cold bit at her skin and how much her mind urged her to run.

She forces herself to watch for another eternity, as debris from the explosion began falling into the atmosphere. Then, when she realized what was finally happening, she sprints away without further thought.

* * *

“I do apologize if this comes as a... rude question.”

“I Don't Think You're Being Rude.” It says, an audible smile in its voice. “What Is It?”

“So,” Nastya sits down on the windowsill. “It feels stupid saying it now, but... did someone tell you to bring tea to me or did you do that yourself?”

“Oh,” The Toy Soldier is only confused for a brief moment, but it smiles brightly and says, “They Told Me Not To Tell You Who Sent Me.”

“It was Tim, wasn't it?”

It nods, though with some reluctance. “He Saw You Were Distressed. He Thought That You Didn't Like Speaking About Dying So He Figured I Could Make You Tea To Help You.”

“... Oh,” A smile teases at the corners of Nastya's mouth but nothing more. “You wouldn't mind checking on them when they get back if you don't mind? I mean... you don't have to — I really don't want to feel like I'm constantly ordering you around.”

“I Wouldn't Mind.” The Toy Soldier almost bounced on its feet. “In Fact, Xe Did Seem A Bit Distressed Xirself When Xe Asked Me About The Tea. I Shall Go Check. Good Day, Nastya.”

Nastya did chuckle to herself, shaking her head as it left.

“Good day...”

* * *

She slammed the door behind her and managed to hold herself against the door though her legs begged her to collapse. She muttered under her breath and fought back a recent memory as it threatened to resurface. Perhaps they could get out of here and the memory would fade.

But when she looked to the controls, the Doctor was busy; as usual, he held a book in his hands and was skimming through it, paying no attention to her.

“So,” He looked up. He held no expression upon his face even when his gaze turned upon Nastya. “You’re back already?”

She only stared at him. “We need to leave.”

“Why?” He tossed the book upon the console.

“Just _go_.” Nastya slid back against the door, shivering. She fought back against the images playing in her mind, sequences of shards that she couldn’t quite shake off. “ _Please_.”

He didn’t immediately start his work, but instead stole glances between her and the controls; he growled to himself and picked up the book from the controls and tossed it aside. Nastya flinched as it landed heavily near her.

“Hm…”

“What the _hell_ was that for?”

“Nothing, really.”

“You're acting really _fucking_ childish.”

“I'm quite aware.” The Doctor says flatly; he turns on his heel to fully face her. “And I'm quite aware we need to get out of here because something crashed into a...” He turns back to the controls and opens the scanner. “Defunct space station and debris will be entering the atmosphere quite shortly. I don't plan on leaving just —”

“You're going to kill us both.” She snarled. “And granted, only you will stay dead and I'm condemned to a life on this _godforsaken_ ship, stuck on this _fucking_ planet in the _fucking_ cold. Now get our asses off this planet _before I kill you myself_.”

The Doctor pulled a face but said nothing. Nastya knew he took her words seriously when he began to work at the controls. The rush of the engines replaces the tense silence in the room, and when the Doctor turned he gave the controls a gentle smack.

“There. Are you satisfied? ”

“Not really.” Nastya stared blankly at the floor, still shivering.

The Doctor sighed heavily, then padded up to pick the book off the floor. He didn't say anything but when Nastya dared a glance at him she saw many questions brewing in his eyes.

He retreated to the console, and that's when he spoke.

“What happened out there... Well besides the fact you're soaking wet from obviously falling over in the snow?” He opens the scanner again; Nastya chances another glance but flinches away when she sees that explosion again. She struggles to look at it but can hear the Doctor muttering about some warship or gunship — she can't tell what he's talking about but it's clear his attention is no longer on her.

“Seemed to be some deliberate act of suicide.” He finally, silently, declares. “I... don't know why that is...” He lapses into solemn silence.

“I know who did it.”

She can feel his gaze upon her; she's almost hushed into silence from shame but manages to speak anyway.

“Tim. Another... _immortal_.” Her voice was almost inaudible. “He knew he was dying — he knew his mechanism was failing. I know it's him because he's the only one who'd do that.”

The Doctor doesn't speak, though there is a stunned silence from him. When Nastya looks up he immediately opens his book and flips through it. Again, the expressionless facade returned.

She didn't have to deal with it long.

“I'll be in the library if you need me.”

Nastya doesn't reply and she gets up as he leaves. She doesn't hear the door shut, but does hear the footsteps retreat farther into the hallway, accompanied by impatient mutterings that she could not decipher.

An impulse tells her to lock the hallway door, to leave the Doctor fuming out there with his book and all, but eventually, that impulse lost the fight and she sat there, unfeeling.

Nastya didn't care about it, anyway. She got to her feet and walked toward the console. Hunching over them, she stares blankly at the controls and silently pleads for the ship to talk to her. That whole fit comes back to her and she wished desperately that she'd kept her mouth shut or hadn't gone to that room in the first place.

To keep the memories away, Nastya had elected not to step foot in that room; the habit had been going on since that outburst — nearly six months. She knew she'd fucked up that time, and she knew that whatever traces of madness had gone, and yet, somehow, she was impatient for the ship to talk to her again and she didn't like it. It was too quiet in her mind and yet too loud.

She couldn't cry again, no matter how much it hurt. She fought those emotions and shoved them down and never thought of them again. She didn't like those thoughts, she didn't like thinking about what the inevitable was, but they were better than feeling too much.

Another one was dead — one by one they would drop like flies of some cause like glory or hubris or loneliness, until there was only her left. She couldn't go back and save them; the ship had told her too much damage to the timeline would cause potentially irreversible damage.

And yet Nastya didn't want to bother sticking around and watch and not do anything. She couldn't interfere — just watch. Watch, much like as she was staring at the console at that very moment, looking but not interfering with the course the Doctor had set.

Nastya closes her eyes tightly but opens them and watches as the door opens and another book is tossed upon the console. She flinches but doesn't give him a verbal reprimand, and thus retreats over to the railing.

“So... any idea where we should go next?” He offers her a smile.

Nastya shakes her head and crosses her arms. Her gaze travels to her feet.

She needed to tie her boots up again — they'd become undone and threatened to trip she should she walk any more. She didn't bother; she could do it later.

“Okay, so I may have an idea, but I'd need to think about it for a while...”

She doesn't bother to stick around to hear the rest of his words; she mutters an excuse — which she did not care to know whether the Doctor had heard or not —and heads to the hallway.

* * *

It always pondered about her peculiar behavior throughout the past few days. The Engineer had remained at the controls with a permanent expression of confusion etched upon her face.

In an attempt to possibly get an explanation it would bring her tea, and she would give it thanks before returning to her work again. The face returned, and it would get no answer.

It didn't need an answer. It figured it out on its own.

_Something Was Wrong With The Ship Again._

Something was always wrong with the ship these days and to its concern, it didn't know what and The Engineer would never say. Perhaps it was programming or something wrong with the computer. It wasn't the computer, was it?

It didn't know specifically. The Toy Soldier always watches The Engineer and would always ponder on what she would find wrong.

_No. There Was Nothing Wrong With The Ship._

It was something on The Engineer's mind. It knew it when the messages kept coming in and she would refuse to translate them no matter how much the First Mate would argue with her. It knew the message was too personal to be translated — it could see the despising and saddened look in her eyes as she repeatedly told the First Mate “ _no_ ” and even if he scared her or even killed her she'd say no with that same look in her eye. The situation got so far that The Engineer wouldn't cede control of The Ship. It didn't know where she was taking them until she left for a while and not even The Ship would say, even in her little way.

It never paid any mind. The Toy Soldier just sat there and waited for the day The Engineer would return.

Even if that wouldn't be for a long, long time.

* * *

A long time, in his terms, would have once possibly been an hour, maybe two at most. Now a long time would have been more than a few centuries at the very least. An hour, a day, year... decade — that could have been a blink of an eye to him.

Yet when Nastya had disappeared into the Cyberian mists, they'd known it would be a long time before they saw her again. And he didn't mean a decade.

It was perhaps a millennia or so before she'd returned to the Aurora, and they'd all waited in tense silence; it had perhaps grown too quiet. Even the Aurora, in whatever way she communicated with them, had shut herself up and wouldn't talk about it. Tim didn't bother to understand, nor did he care in the least. He figured she'd be back and life would resume to its — near — normality.

If he could call their life normal. Normal was just a strange word — their life was anything but normal. Normal was a life where you'd be born, live, and die — little to no chance of seeing the stars or exploring worlds and times unknown. Their life was an endless cycle of death and destruction and chaos. They saw too many stars for a mere mortal person and laid waste to so many worlds that Tim could no longer count on his own hand, let alone recall from pure memory.

He tapped on the window he stood by, though he knew that nobody below could hear him. That planet was still burning, and it would for a while. They'd done their job and were off again.

“Enjoying the sunset?”

The sarcastic-laced question was accompanied by a knock upon the door.

"Quite,” They reply, rather bluntly. “Never thought I could make a planet burn like that.”

“I'm sure.” The figure joins him by the window. Her eyes slight with a strange glee as she watches it. “Too bad I missed it.”

“You threw Jonny out of the airlock again. I'll hand you some credit.”

She laughs and leans over the windowsill. “Feels a bit better to be back. I won't have to leave again, that's for sure.”

“Cyberia?”

“Gone.” She blinks at him. “Set a chain reaction across the system. Hardly noticed, but god, finally I can leave that place behind and stay with you guys. Maybe help you burn down some more planets, eh?”

She looks away and lapses into silence; Tim follows her gaze to the planet below them. He restrained a grin, though internally reminded himself that he could be proud of their work. He had done that and he could be proud of it. There would be nothing left to miss about it until they came upon the next planet.

There was still more to burn, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update of 2021!  
> Probably the most exciting thing for me to happen this year so far. My mental health took a turn for that worse after Nine came out, and wow did I lose motivation for this quickly.  
> I wanted to let those who read and comment on this fic know that, without your support, CC probably would have never made it past Chapter Two. I love y'all ❤  
> Also, to note (and possibly avoid confusion), the burning planet in Carmilla's part and in Tim's ending are two separate incidents


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His body will float there forever, far beyond the warmth of stars. 
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> Cw/tw: Character death, heavily implied suicide, heavily implied animal death, dissociation, unreality

When she’d sat on the windowsill, she wasn’t alone for long. A noise akin to a cat's meow disturbed the air of silence, and Nastya startled before casting her gaze to the floor.

There sat a small tabby octokitten peering upon her. It was alone, which did bring about a bout of suspicion from Nastya, but she shook her head when it appeared harmless — it didn't move for a while.

“Do you want up here, _Кошка_?”

It blinked at her and meowed again.

Nastya got off the windowsill and picked it up. It immediately snuggled into her arms and remained that way as she climbed back onto the windowsill. Within minutes it was asleep, purring in her arms.

She looked away from the window as the door opened, then glanced to the octokitten in her arms.

“God, they need to learn to control themselves.” The newcomer slides back against the door, as though that alone would hold it closed.

“Weren't you guys supposed to be practicing?”

“Yeah, but apparently another horde decided to show up and Jonny got the _absolutely wonderful_ idea to try and shoot at them.”

Nastya laughs, much to the newcomer's disgrace. “Got the idea to escape at the right time?” She glances down at the still sleeping octokitten. “Besides, I don't think you're the only one who got that idea.”

“What do you — _oh_.” The newcomer stared at the cat. “Alright, then. As long as it won’t… _eat me_.”

“A single kitten won’t eat you.” At Nastya’s words, the octokitten awoke and began purring. “ _Кошка_ won’t eat you, Brian. Harmless little cat.”

Though he appeared slightly relieved at the thought, he stayed his fair distance away from the windowsill and sat against the wall.

“Well, I suppose...” Nastya broke the silence and ruffled her hands through the octokitten's fur. She sighs in half-amusement. “You can hide out here until they calm down. And I'll make sure Koshka doesn't hurt you.”

Brian is, again, uneasy for a moment, then he smiles. “I still don't trust your wording on that, but I guess I'd say that cat is acting better than Jonny right now... One practice, he said... _One practice_ , but then a horde of...” He gestures at the creature in Nastya's lap. “Those shows up and Jonny gets that idea and starts shooting at them. ' _Accidentally_ ' kills... Ivy and Tim. Almost shoots me and I bolt. I do apologize if I locked the door. I really don't want anyone getting in here.”

“Jonny will find out and shoot the lock anyway.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I mean if you want Aurora to flush him out of another airlock, then perhaps.”

“That... that could work.” Brian glances nervously at the door. “I mean he deserves it in my opinion.”

“Fair enough.”

Brian was silent after that comment, and he continued to stare cautiously at the door, occasionally tapping at it every so often as though to make sure that there was nobody on the other side of the door. He did this for a while before he grew bored and seemingly fell asleep.

Nastya stared down at the octokitten in her lap. It blinked slowly up at her and made a sound that could be compared to a meow. Her expression immediately softened and she managed a brief smile back at the creature. When it curled up and fell asleep again, Nastya's expression returned to its neutral look and she only nodded at Brian — his lack of response told her that he was definitely asleep.

The silence that followed was brief, though comforting.

Both Nastya and Brian were startled from their moment of peace by a pounding on the door — judging from the gunshot hardly a minute later, it was Jonny who had done so.

“Brian, have you seen any more of those _fuckers_ anywhere?”

“No,” Brian replies, almost too quickly. “And _don't_ come in here.”

There's a frustrated sigh. “ _Fine_. Just... come out sooner or later or I'll forget you on another planet, and it won't be an accident this time.”

“ _That last time wasn't an accident_...” He mutters — Nastya fights to restrain a chuckle, and luckily, Brian doesn't see nor hear her do so. “I'm coming anyway if you're so insistent on me looking for octokitten hordes.”

“You haven't seen any in that hiding place of yours, have you?”

He glances towards Nastya, who shakes her head.

“No. Just me in here.” He opens the door enough to let himself out. “Don't shoot me, I'm telling you the truth.”

Jonny's voice was restrained even as he led Brian away down the hall. “I really highly doubt it.”

Nastya mentally rolls her eyes and pulls a face, and glances down at the octokitten, who purrs loudly. It lays its head down in her lap and is asleep not moments later.

She smiles, then leans back against the windowsill and sighs.

“Sleep sounds like a good idea, doesn't it, _Кошка_?”

It wakes for a moment and blinks slowly at her, then lays its head back down and starts purring again.

“Good idea.”

She cast her gaze toward the stars and fell asleep there.

No matter how peaceful it had been, however, her dreams were anything but.

* * *

When she wakes, she's on the floor of the control room. A control panel lays beside her, a product of her tinkering about.

She shakes her head and picks up the panel, then goes over to replace it on the console.

“Hope you didn't mind that... Just... Seeing if things needed to be fixed.” She sighed, running a hand through her sleep-tangled hair. “Must've passed out without realizing... I think I should... Probably get more sleep shouldn't I, _милая_?”

As she expected, no response. She dusted herself off and muttered, “Yeah, should have known better than to get my hopes up. I'm not mad at you if that's what you're still hungover about.”

She waits in near-silence, aside from the ringing of her ears which she still tries hard to ignore. Distantly, the ship's walls hum, an echo of the engine that Nastya could never find yet could sense was close to her at all hours.

“I should get more sleep. Doctor's going to get onto me — _again_ — though I don't understand why he can go a week without it while in that goddamned library of his, and I miss a day and somehow _I'm_ unreasonable.”

Nastya took her coat off and folded it up in her arms, before tossing it carelessly upon the railing. “I really don't understand that man sometimes...”

She drew out a sigh and listened to the hum of the engines for several more moments, then shook her head.

“Well... I don't know if you are listening, but... If you are... If and when the Doctor gets back, tell him I've gone for a rest in my room. Alright?”

Where again Nastya expected no response, a loud, rhythmic creak answered her.

Nastya managed the barest of smiles, gave the controls a gentle pat, then turned and left.

* * *

She found Koshka resting upon the windowsill as she entered the engine room. It perked up upon hearing her footsteps and meowed to greet her.

“Still hate them, don't you?” Nastya said softly, shutting the door behind her. “Or are you’re staying away from the hordes like you usually do?”

It meowed again.

She approached the window and picked it up. “I get how you feel…”

It blinked at her, then snuggled into her arms, purring.

“Anyone been here?”

Koshka didn’t answer, and she didn’t expect it to give on. It was asleep in her arms again, purring loudly.

Nastya gazed listlessly outside. There, the stars sat, idle, as they drifted aimlessly throughout space. She didn’t know how fast or slow they were going, nor did she care much — the destination especially was on the last of her priorities, as it could take decades in between and they’d just left a planet, anyway.

She gently sat the sleeping Koshka on the windowsill again and leaned forward into the window.

“I get it — it’s warm in here.”

Koshka stirred.

“I mean, obviously you don’t have quicksilver for blood which makes it cold all the time for you, but… I’m talking to a cat…” Her face fell. “ A cat… Who doesn’t understand me.”

_I do believe it has a basic comprehension of the Cyberian language_.

“Good morning, Aurora.” Nastya leaned over the windowsill. A smile broke onto her previously expressionless face.

_Good morning, Nastya_. Aurora returned the gesture in equal warmth. _I trust you're escaping them again._

“Unfortunately...” Nastya looked toward Koshka and patted it on the head. “Koshka here seems to have the same idea.”

_It always seems to be where everyone else isn’t._

Koshka stirred again as Aurora seemed to hum impatiently. It blinked out into the dim room before seeming to realize that nobody was there, aside from Nastya and Aurora. However, after a moment, its ears flattened against its head — Nastya could hear whatever chaos was going on in the distance, though she couldn’t tell if it was music or another gunfight; to be fair, it could be both.

“Never seem to shut up, do they?” Nastya picked up Koshka again.

_Agreed_. Aurora paused, and there seemed to be a brief break of sound in the engine room. _Well, there is a life sign missing from the rest of them. He seems to be… forlorn._

“Brian?”

Another pause.

_There’s a chance that it isn’t him, but that chance appears to be quite slim._

“Should I go check on him?” She knew the answer to that question already.

_I think it would be best_. Aurora murmured, a little quieter than usual.

“Guess I’ll have to walk into chaos again…” Nastya held up Koshka and smiled. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

It was reluctant to let go of her though and clung to her arm when she tried to set it down. When she tried, it retaliated and only curled up closer to her with a loud meow. Any further attempt made by Nastya to pry it off her only made the protests worse.

Eventually, she gave up and held up the octokitten to look it in the eye.

“I _really_ don’t like you, and I hope you know that.”

_It probably doesn't like you either_. Aurora hummed in amusement. _You left it in the engine room. Alone. It's being clingy because you abandoned it._

“Well if you say that, I don't like you either.” Nastya teased back.

_I could send you out of an airlock right now_.

“Oh, you _wouldn't_.”

_I wouldn't, at least, not on purpose. You don't start_ _gunfights_ _in the commons or start fires in the engine room like everyone else._

Nastya chuckled, mostly to herself. She glanced to Koshka, who still, unfortunately, clung to her and wouldn't let go.

“Should probably check on Brian before I stall any more.”

* * *

Nastya didn't immediately rest as she had so promised, but she did stand by the side table, staring listlessly down at the violin she'd left there — the violin she had not played in a while. How long had it been? Months? _Years_? Her perception of time had been dull before, but now it had been further dulled by her frequent fits of unreality and dissociation.

She supposed it didn't matter anymore — who needed a perception of time when you were practically immortal — possibly nothing mattered in here. She didn't want to attempt anything, rash or not. Even the violin sitting on the table before her no longer held her interest.

Lazily, she reached out and plucked at the strings. As she had not tuned the instrument in a long while, the notes came out in dissonance to her, but, to the ringing of her ears, it somehow harmonized.

Nastya stopped almost immediately afterward, her hand dropping to her side. She pushed the violin to the back of the side table with her other hand and heard something wooden clatter to the floor behind.

She bent down and reached under the table, and what she retrieved was the bow.

Falling back on her knees, she gave a resigned, shuddering sigh, staring at the bow blankly. Her hands traced the splinters she’d never bothered to fix and possibly never would — she had better things to do than worry about playing music.

She placed the bow on the table, beside the violin, but she didn't stand — she couldn't bring herself to stand. Instead, she turned to lean back against the bed frame and shut her eyes.

The dream that came was sudden — A sharp cold that drove itself into her mind.

There she is again, floating against the maddening depths of space, surrounded but untouched by the distant warmth of stars. It's recognizable... though it had been a while since she'd seen them, since she had cast herself away when she and the Aurora were no longer so. But this circumstance was different. She could breathe, and the cold air didn't soak into her bones. She didn't know why she was brought here specifically, but she knew there had to be a purpose.

Then, there, she sees a figure floating there. Silent, still, full of regrets..? She couldn't tell. She approaches and recognizes them instantly.

_Brian_.

Nastya wants to call out his name. She remembers this companion. She remembers how much he'd tried to change, to go against the rest of the crew's moralities, though his were questionable at any time.

She'd always liked him somehow, though she never knew why. She remembered Carmilla taking him in after finding him floating through space. Nastya found herself timid around him at first but had never known why — perhaps it was the rapidly changing morality she would later learn was controlled by the flip of a switch that even he disproved of.

She wondered how long it had taken him to realize she was gone, how long it had taken him to realize that she was never coming back and that she had a reason to never come back.

Perhaps it had been a long time after she had left them all on the remains of the Aurora — ten, a hundred, maybe a thousand years until he'd realized that she hadn't hidden herself within the vents or locked herself within the engine or common room. Perhaps he'd never noticed — maybe that was for the best; was just floating there, in the void, thinking nothing, feeling nothing, worrying about nothing. He had given up, finally, as the rest of their crew had.

At least by her watch.

It was a fitting end, perhaps. An end similar to how he began — floating quietly through the depths of space.

_He never did much care for glory, did he_?

Nastya backed away, watching him drift until she could see him no longer, and then she stood there — not even the usual ringing in her ears disturbed the silence... Not even the thought that crept into her mind and teased her.

_This could all be a dream, couldn’t it_?

After all, she was passed out in her room on the ship, just as she remembered.

But the cold was real; she could feel the frozen touch of space upon her skin as though she had strode out of the ship and flung herself back outside

This was no dream. Dreams were exaggerated and always had some air of unreality surrounding them. The cold was too real, the thin air and ability were too real... _Brian_ was... _too real_.

She could figure it all out later.

She needed to get out of this hellscape.

So Nastya runs. Runs in this excuse for a reality. She looks for breaks in reality — cracks, tears, anything to help her escape.

Nothing. Nothing but empty black. Cold. Quiet. Thin — couldn't breathe.

Wait, was she falling? When had she started falling? Why was she falling so quickly — space isn't like that.

It sends her gasping awake beside the bed. She finds herself shivering, fighting off the cold from the dream; she curls up to fight it, which does help, but only physically.

No longer does she want to process her thoughts, nor what she had seen there. She feels tears running down her face before she has a chance to, and thus she closes her eyes and welcomes the feeling.

_So... I guess he learned one thing from me_. _How to die_.

Nastya laughs, but it's hardly more than a huff before her breath shudders and rattles in her chest. Though she attempts to steady it, it is nearly impossible to calm herself down. She tries to smile, to reassure herself that it was only a dream or some mere virtual reality. It isn't. It's just some reality that she had to deal with. Some _goddamned, hellish_ reality. Some _fucking_ hellish reality where everyone died but her and it was all unfair and it...

It was unfair that they were all dying and she was still alive. Why couldn't she die along with them? Space was _right there_ — she could cast herself out there and die all over again and she didn't have to wake up this time. She could be peaceful and neither the Doctor nor the ship would miss her.

_No_.

A voice in the back of her head says otherwise.

No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't just end her life right there, not when there was so much more to go on for. She still had her chance to talk to the ship. She still had her chance to meet so much more people and have so much more to give. 

But yet, how would she take destruction again? She knew she'd practically grown up around destruction and death and many other terrible things, but she knew her mind could only take so much more battering before she would break.

At least she knew how to handle it for the time being.

* * *

There's a hand on her shoulder. Nastya shrugs it off, only to realize who she'd shrugged off.

“Sorry, Brian.”

“It's alright,” He sits down beside her on the open airlock's floor. Everything alright?”

Nastya nods, but even she knows that answer was questionable. “Just... Lonely, I guess.” She says. “Always lonely.”

“Ah,” Brian says after a brief pause. “I would say I get that, but... I'm not you, Nastya. Space, perhaps, but that's about it.”

Nastya stares at him. He's staring at his lap wistfully. Whatever he's thinking, it's isn't positive and it's clear that the sight of the stars was enough to trigger something.

“God, that's... Out there, I thought I'd die, and now here I am.” He hugs himself and a smile flashed upon his face. “Got to be thankful for that.”

Nastya nods; although she hesitates speaking for a few moments, she does manage to summon up the words.

“... Thought I was going to die on the floor of that palace. I thought maybe... I’d just lay there and let myself die and join my family.” Her breath shakes as she says this. “I suppose I did, in a way. Part of me died that night and I’m just… who I am, for lack of a Vetter phrase.”

“Well,” Brian laughs but shows no humor. “At least they didn’t call you a witch and immediately throw you into space. Do you know how cold it is out there and how just… terrifying it is when you’re mortal? Can’t breathe, can’t speak. You can’t hold your breath or your lungs will just…” He shivers and his brows furrow.

Nastya wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer. He was silent but immediately hugged her.

They did find some commonality as they gazed out towards the stars. The cold, dark vastness seemed to reach and threaten to pry inside the ship, only to be held back by the inside and the lights that pushed it back to where it belonged.

They do watch the outside for awhile — Nastya doesn’t know how long and she doesn’t bother to ask Brian if he does, and, after a while, she moves away from him and laid upon the airlock floor.

Brian does the same soon after.

“For some reason, personally, I think I like it when it’s quieter.” He murmurs. “Not many days where you get some _goddamn peace and quiet_ on this ship, because either Jonny’s shooting up the place, or Tim steals one of his guns and goes on a rampage, or… I think you get where I’m going with this...”

“Unfortunately…” Nastya sighs in exasperation. “From all that noise, I think my ears are starting to ring…”

It wasn’t like she’d suddenly become aware of it at that moment — her ears always rang when the ship had their most quieter moments, most usually when someone had taken Jonny — or _anyone_ for that matter — out, had taken their weapons, or both. She never paid it any mind, though — those quiet moments upon the Aurora were quite rare in her case.

“I would say so too, but,” He taps at his head, which yields a metallic clanging. “I'm _all_ metal and hardly human.”

“Fair enough...” Nastya smiles but doesn't meet his gaze when she sits up again. There's a pause, and she hears but one gunshot ring out from the hall.

“I'm guessing it's... some sort of octokitten hunting day for them, isn't it?” She laughs.

Brian does not reply.

* * *

However, she does find the Doctor talking to himself when she returns to the control room. He holds a book in his hand, as usual, but rather she finds it's not a manual, but something different.

_“И все же, на небесах, я думаю, что моя любовь_ — oh, good evening, Nastya.” He tosses the book on the floor and greets her with a smile, which faded when he realized she wasn't happy. “Well... How about a distraction, eh? New planet?”

The Doctor works at the controls. When he mutters several more incomprehensible questions, it is clear that he is speaking to himself, as he had not acknowledged Nastya's presence, even as she cleared her throat to get his attention. “Barcelona, would you say? Dogs with no noises ought to cheer her up a bit, wouldn't it? It always works on me. Or maybe... maybe we can check with our friends on the Sveitha, doesn't that sound nice?”

A pause.

He was talking to the ship.

“Oh, don't give me that.” He said. “You better start getting along with her again. Oh, you better not defy me; it was not your fault, it was not her fault, it was not my fault, so we can all just get along or shut up. Wait... She can't hear you, can she..?”

Nastya avoids his gaze as he looks at her, and she bites her tongue. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but she shakes her head as though to dash them away. She draws her arms up to hug herself and merely sobs quietly so that the Doctor wouldn't hear her.

“You don't see what's going on?” The ferocity leaks into the Doctor's voice. There's a pause before he stammers out, “No. No, _no_ , don't give me _that_. You really can't see it? Yes, fine, she may be unreasonable, but she's... ” He glances at her, and Nastya's gaze whips toward the floor. “She's grieving. I'm pretty sure you saw me after Katarina died. No, I don't _care_ how many centuries ago that was. Fine, don't talk to me either.”

He eventually gives up after some more protest; when Nastya looks up at him, he'd stepped away from the console toward her. She'd bit back more sobs to hide that she'd heard the entire argument, but from the concerned expression on the Doctor's face, he had seen how it had affected her, too.

“I'm sorry that this is going on.” He's forcing his voice flat — Nastya's immediately suspicious but takes his words seriously, regardless. “But hey...”

“I saw someone else _die_ , Doctor.” She takes advantage of his brief silence to her advantage. “I don't think you know the extent of ' _what's going on_ '.”

The Doctor remained silent. He backed away from her and immediately went back to the controls. There's another tense moment of silence before he declares flatly, “We're going to visit Sveitha and the others.”

“So you're just —” Nastya bites her tongue. The argument wasn't worth having — he wasn't going to listen regardless of whether she'd whispered it or shouted it straight into his ear.

She heaved a sigh through bared teeth.

“ _Fine_. Have it your way, then.”

* * *

She's fallen asleep on the airlock floor.

He doesn't disturb her, watching out for the stars as they passed by.

On their way to another tragedy, he knew. Didn't know what they'd do or where they'd be going. All he knew was that he'd probably have to burn yet another planet and he would very likely be involved again.

He didn't like being involved, especially with these events, but perhaps that was his sense of morality speaking and not his mind.

Often he found this mortality tough to understand, even thousands of years later. Whether if the ends justified the means or the means justified the ends, the outcome was always disastrous. He would have preferred making the decisions on his own, even if the outcome was less than surprising. Yet, there morality was, choosing for him.

He supposed he owed Carmilla for that one. Probably he owed her for saving his life as well. She wasn't the greatest person, but neither was he — none of them were if he had to be frank.

A knock sounded from behind him, dragging Brian out of his thoughts. He glanced down to Nastya, who stirred but didn't wake.

He forced his voice down. “You're alright to come in. Just... just be quiet.”

The door squeaked open — the person was hardly making an effort of obeying the order he'd given.

“Um, Jonny's looking for you.” At least the person made an effort to keep their voice down, if not their footsteps.

“Is he hoping he can forgive me for the commotion from earlier, Ivy?” Brian muttered. “Or does he just want another excuse to get himself out of it as he always does?”

“I think you'd best come see,” Ivy replied after some hesitation. Brian knew she'd meant _'I don't know the proper answer without offending you'_ and that was fine. Gave him enough opportunity to find out himself.

He drew out another sigh and glanced once more toward the sleeping Nastya beside him; he then smiled slightly and got to his feet.

“I'm coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late in the day, but it's here 😔
> 
> You will see a little bit more of 'Koshka' in the near future
> 
> Also, if you translate what the Doctor's saying at the end, you'll find that I just didn't get that quote from anywhere (the possibly botched Russian translation gave that away 😅)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting some old friends...
> 
> ~~~  
> cw/tw: mentions of war and death, lightly implied xenophobia and emotional manipulation

She'd stayed beside the railing until they'd landed.

The Doctor opened the scanner and glanced upon it as though to confirm where they were. “Yeah, it's definitely the Sveitha... I would say about five or six years after we left. Long enough, eh?”

Nastya glanced up but didn't reply.

“Yeah, probably shouldn't have asked.” He turned and grabbed her coat from the railing; he held it toward her. “Best if you wear it.”

Nastya made no move to retrieve her coat, nor did she reply.

“You can't just... spite me like this, Nastya.” He said, shoving it out toward her as if insisting she take it. “Unless you _want_ to freeze out there, I suggest you take your coat and stop moping around.”

Reluctantly, Nastya took her coat, but didn’t put it on — the latter action earned her an almost rightfully deserved glare from the Doctor.

She didn’t care — he wasn’t going to force her outside, even if she wanted to.

Which she didn’t.

He’d never asked for her opinion on going to the place — he’d just announced it and off they were, and, the entire trip there, talked nonsensically about sonnets and their uses, and had even recited a few in Cyberian, much to Nastya’s annoyance.

She respected his reading, but she would have rather preferred he kept it in the library, where it properly belonged.

But, perhaps… there was an upside to that — Nastya considered this as she finally put on her coat — the Doctor’s presence with reading and talking his head off kept the place alive, in a way. Nastya didn’t have to stay in the quiet the entire time, even worse, be left alone with the constant annoyance of the ringing in her ears.

“Nastya?”

She startled out of her thoughts. The Doctor was already at the door.

“Are you coming?”

Nastya fixed her coat slightly, going over the question in her mind. Eventually she shook her head and smiled slightly. “Hang on.”

* * *

The walk was short — only just down the hall. Nastya found that, on the way there, the steady hum of the engines grew just a slight bit louder — the Doctor appeared too preoccupied to notice it; he was staring off ahead and muttering to himself.

“So…” Nastya crossed her arms and turned to face him as they walked. “We’re just going to waltz in unannounced?”

“No, I sent a word ahead.” He said, gesturing at the door a small distance away. “But I didn’t say when I’d show up.”

“That’s… not much better, Doctor.”

“Nonsense…” He began walking backwards, flashing Nastya a small smile.

She didn’t return it.

They paused before the door — The Doctor knocked without a moment's hesitation, earning a judgemental stare from Nastya.

“Hello?”

“Who's there?” A voice replied. Nastya recognized it instantly — Naryl.

“I suppose you don't remember us? From way back when?” He asked. “I think I sent a heads up a while ago?”

Nastya shot him another pointed stare and he shrugged.

“Heads up... Doctor?” Naryl faltered in question. “Oh. Yes. Let me let you in. Just give me a quick moment.”

“Told you I sent a heads up.” The Doctor smiled above his whisper. Nastya only rolled her eyes.

The door opened and there, at the front of the room, stood Naryl, standing with hir back toward them, working at the controls.

“You can come in,” Ze said. “I don't mind.”

“Well, then,” The Doctor nodded toward Nastya and strode in even when she protested against him. “Good morning, or afternoon, or night, or whatever time of day it is, Naryl.”

“Haven't changed at all, then?” Naryl cast hir gaze toward Nastya as ze began to shut the door. Nastya hurried inside before it completely shut.

“Unfortunately, I don't plan on changing.” The Doctor muttered. “Not for quite some time.”

He strode casually over to the controls, while Nastya remained before the closed door — he didn't seem to notice she wasn't by his side any longer until Naryl glanced at Nastya and beckoned her over.

“So...” Naryl sighed. “What else?”

“Wouldn't say much else...” The Doctor muttered. “... Been spending too much time in the library to know what's going on.”

 _At least he admits it._ Nastya kept the remark to herself, instead favoring a slightly equal, “I have the unfortunate circumstance of being stuck with him, as per usual.”

Naryl glanced between the two, but only shook hir head and sighed. Ze tapped at the controls for a brief moment before adding, “Did I mention anything about Luko yet?”

“Have you been checking in on xir?” The Doctor said, leaning back against the control panel.

“We've been sending Kehra down to earth every year or so to check on xir.” Naryl waved him off. “Xe's been doing well as far as we know — Oh,” Ze turned on hir heel. “Did you know xe's married now?”

“Married?” Nastya forces a brief smile upon her face, which falls flat as Naryl directed hir attention elsewhere.

“Yeah. Not long after you left.” Naryl worked at the controls for several moments — when Nastya had stepped closer to the control panel, an image had flashed upon the large screen before them.

It was Luko, as the human form Nastya knew was of that dog walker she'd initially run into. Next to xir stood a woman, barely taller than xir, with sharp features and ruddy colored hair. Both were smiling — laughing, perhaps; it was hard to tell.

Nastya, herself, was admittedly glad for the both of them, but for some reason, she couldn't bring a smile to her face even if she forced it.

“So,” Naryl allowed another brief pause pass before speaking again. “How's it been going for either of you?”

“Uh,” The Doctor glances at Nastya, who shakes her head. “Well, it could be better, but it's been faring well for either of us.”

 _Close enough_... Nastya barely had any time to finish the thought, before she recognized a voice coming loud and clear in her mind.

 _Glad to see you're back_.

Sveitha.

The voice had not come from anyone in the room, aside from the ship herself. _And doing well._

“Eh... Like he said it could be better.” Nastya replied flatly.

“Could also be worse.” The Doctor added from where he stood, once again leaning back against the control panel.

“Was that necessary?”

“No, but yknow, there's always a possibility of things just going to hell.”

“I mean the butting in to a potentially private conversation.”

“No...” The Doctor pulled his scarf over his face and fell silent.

“So...” Nastya waved him off though she knew he didn't see her. She then directed her next question toward Sveitha. “Better or worse.”

 _That's fair_.

“I mean...” Nastya chuckled, mostly to herself. “It's a bit too complicated to explain right now. I mean I could have been to hell and back and you'd hardly notice. Could have...” She faltered, dashing away the memories of death when they threatened to surface. “Could have been through hell, lived, died, other things...”

 _Other things_... Sveitha murmured. _You speak so fondly of that, but... I feel like you're more sad than fond of what you're thinking about._

“If I think I know what you're talking about, then... Yeah.” Nastya leaned over the controls. “Right now... Love is... A complicated subject, personally... If you... Understand what I mean.”

 _That's understandable_ , Sveitha replied _. I mean... The most complicated it's ever gotten with me was... Well, there was a period where I... wouldn't speak to Naryl at all. I don't know why I was mad at hir at all... I just... I wouldn't respond when ze'd page me, I wouldn't talk when she was around... You get where I'm going with this._

“And what... How did you get back onto... Speaking terms?”

_Well, the war broke out and you can imagine we were often in close quarters with each other. I dunno how it happened again but sometimes that's what it takes to get someone speaking... granted... I, um, died not much later after that._

Nastya sighed and stared listlessly at the controls. She sighed and smiled only briefly. “Then I should take that advice for my own relationship. Get involved in a war and she'll talk to me again.”

 _Ah, is that what you meant by complicated, then_?

“Unfortunately.”

_Might I ask what happened?_

“I... A lot. Probably need to... Move on from Aurora first before I try to reconcile.” Nastya stood away from the controls, crossed her arms, and stared at the floor. “... Been trying to talk to the ship — she responded once... I think.”

_Once isn’t bad…_

“At least she isn’t… not talking to me at all, but I wish…”

_You wish your mind wasn’t… quiet..?_

“Rather loud, more like… disjointed, disordered, whatever English has a word for that’s just... Mess and chaos. ”

 _That's understandable_. Sveitha was quiet. _I... Surmised by the look on your face when you came in.. told me your thoughts weren't quite right._

Nastya bit her tongue, hoping that a reply would come to her mind. When it didn't, she sighed and murmured a simple, “Yeah...”

“Oh. Doctor?” Naryl finally interrupted the two’s conversation — likely not intentionally — and stared in their direction. Ze had walked away from the controls and was working on a panel across the room from the controls.

“Yes?” The Doctor, who had been likely watching the conversation — as he’d been staring in their direction — cast his gaze toward Naryl. “What do you need?”

“Could you possibly come and assist me, Doctor?”

Nastya stared at him at the question. “What are you waiting for?”

“I...” He sighed. “Yeah I suppose there's no excuse I'll make that'll work on you, is there?”

“Considering you're only current working ‘ _excuse_ ’ is going to the library, then no.”

The Doctor grumbled under his breath but reluctantly complied with the order. He only glanced back at Nastya upon the short walk there, then knelt next to Naryl and became talking with hir quietly.

 _So..._ Sveitha sounded amused. _Library?_

“I don't think I have to explain that one...” Nastya laughed briefly, but lapsed into silence and thought for a moment. “Right, so... odd question...”

_Yeah?_

“Is Lirhom still here..?”

 _Yeah, unfortunately... It won't shut up about a lot of things_. Sveitha almost audibly sighed. _Dawn to dusk, it's this or it's that. Angry little owl child who shot it is... Brought up frequently — probably over the past five years, almost every day... Don't know if it was you it was talking about but that... That was every day._

“Ah,” Nastya moved away from the controls. “You wouldn't mind if I paid it a little visit?”

 _I mean, if it gets it to shut up, then go right ahead_. Sveitha muttered, half-amused.

“Hey, Doctor?”

The Doctor glanced up from where he worked. “Yes?”

“You wouldn’t mind if I took a short walk, would you?”

He blinked at her, picked up a wire and stared at it, then nodded half-heartedly. “Yep. I’ll… come to look for you when I’m done here. Just — _**ah**_!” The wire he was holding sparked and he startled. “I’ll… yeah, just don’t wander too far off or I’ll risk leaving you here.”

Nastya rolled her eyes. “Understandable,” she murmured, drawing a sigh as she stepped away from the controls. Her next reply was directed at Svietha. “If I don’t come back today, I hope to see you again sometime.”

 _I’d look forward to seeing you as well_. Sveitha murmured. _Whenever that may be._

“See you soon, Svietha.” Nastya managed the brightest smile she could bear, then left the control room. “If I ever do get the chance to see you again.”

* * *

She vaguely remembers the route she'd taken. Turn right here, left there, another left, then another right. Who knew directions in this place — the halls were all the same, spare the occasional door to a lab, or a storage bay, or one of the many living quarters she'd counted.

Nastya knew the prison cells had lain down the hall from the med bay — she recalled from her last time here that she didn't have to turn any useless corners to get between the two.

She never liked this part of the place, though she'd only been here once before. It was still too bright to be a prison — the lighting never changed between the border of the regular and the cell-lined hallways.

She held her breath upon crossing that border and paused upon stepping foot before the first prison cell — when she glanced inside, there sat the crow, sitting upon a chair in the otherwise empty cell, muttering quietly to itself.

When Nastya cleared her throat, it looked up and laughed. “Oh… you’ve appeared to answer my call.”

“I heard you were talking about me… Lirhom...”

“It’s been too long… two thousand days and counting. Was hoping you’d hear my mutterings from beyond the stars...” Sarcasm thinly laced its tone. It looked up from where it sat. “Or... Wherever the hell you're from... _Cyberian_.”

When Nastya didn't react, it sighs.

“Ah,” Lirhom sneers then, and a chuckle escapes its throat. “So have you come back to gloat about your little victory, then?”

“Hardly,” Nastya leans over the bars. She smiled herself — A stolen moment of glee, perhaps — though that quickly faded. “I have better things to do than hang about... gloating.”

It changes the subject slightly. “Your petty little owl friend shot me.”

“Good riddance,” Nastya muttered. “I'm sure that was... sorely needed.”

Lirhom sniffed. “Coming from someone who murdered for a living,” Slight sarcasm laced its tone. “That's a compliment.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“Wasn't trying to, Nastya.” It stared at her. Nastya couldn't discern a single emotion on its face. “You know, I never did get your last name.”

“And you're _not_ going to.”

“Well... at least I tried.” Lirhom chuckled. “Genuine question — why are you such a bitch to me?”

“I can think of multiple reasons,” Nastya said, and left it at that, much to the crow's disdain.

“Haha, right. Starting with the interrogation and escalating from there.” It cackled lightly. “Still doesn't give you the right to be a bitch to me, dear Nastya.”

“You tried to kill me — it gives me every right.”

“... Bit snappish, aren't you?” It sniffed. “Right... I've considered something...”

“Considered what?” Nastya moved away from the bars.

“The only reason you're being a bitch to me is because you're shoving down all those pathetic little feelings that you don't like to feel... until you can't feel them anymore until all that's left is this hidden rage that you choose to inflict upon me.”

Nastya restrained herself from the building urge to go in that prison cell and throttle the Macria. Instead, she shoved her hands in her coat pockets and attempted to steady her breath.

It was clear, though, that she'd already given it the answer it wanted.

“Oh... oh.” The laugh began as a rattle deep in its chest, then gradually grew to such an intensity that Nastya nearly had to cover her ears. “I can see the death in your eyes, Nastya. Oh, how much you've seen... I would say, oh, maybe four so far. But hey,” I'm a simple little crow to you, aren't I?”

“I've heard _enough_ from you.”

Nastya backed against the far wall. The crow sat up from its seat and paced towards the bars. Its form began melting, shifting into a figure that Nastya recognized.

“Oh, are you sure?” The mirror image said. “I mean, I could go on and on about this for hours. Am I allowed to have just a bit of fun in this prison cell of mine?”

“No,” Nastya snapped immediately. “You know what you did.”

Lirhom changed back and dragged itself back towards its chair. “That was a long time ago. Can't we just... forgive and forget?”

“My answer remains the same. _No_.”

“ _Fine_.” There was an audible sneer in the crow's voice. “I guess there are better things to do, like sit—”

“Alright, I believe everything is taken care of.” The Doctor was one to interrupt them — Nastya hadn't heard him walk up. “Oh, hello again. Miss me?”

Lirhom sniffed; its face crinkled but it said nothing.

“Naryl and I found the problem, and Sveitha should be running smoothly now.” The Doctor ignored the rude gesture and turned to Nastya. “She also wishes you well. Also should be going soon before the ship gets angry at me — again.”

“She's probably angry at you for a reason.”

The crow chuckled, startling the Doctor.

“Better run along before she leaves without you.” It mocked.

“I hate admitting it, but you're right... For once.” The Doctor smiled broadly — much to the crow's disdain. “Let's go, Nastya.”

* * *

“Well, that was a good break from the real world, wasn’t it?” He leaned over the controls. “Just checking up on friends and such, you know?”

“I'm sure one — well two — visits don't exactly qualify for friendship, Doctor.”

“I mean you seem to think so,” The Doctor began his usual work at the controls. “Sveitha was very fond of you back there.”

“Fair enough.” Nastya leaned over the railing with a heavy sigh.

There was no immediate reply from the Doctor, though Nastya could hear the buttons clicking as he worked. He only paused to pick up the book he'd discarded some time ago; he opened it, flipped through it, and tossed it aside.

“Right.” The Doctor sighed. “Well then...” He smiled at her, and she smiled back; albeit it was a very small smile. “Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno why but for some reason this isn't the most favorite chapter I've written  
> But hey, early update!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His end comes as less of a surprise
> 
> ~~~  
> Cw/tw: character Death, unreality/questions of reality, implied animal death, talks of death, brief blood mention, existentialism, questions of sanity

For some reason, she'd never got around to asking why he'd never believed in immortality. I mean it was perfectly logical to be skeptical, especially for someone like their ship's... ' _Doctor_ '. She wouldn't call Marius a doctor, but for some reason he occasionally had the sense as though he was... which included an interesting set of skepticism.

She'd always found such skepticism in immortality a tad... _strange_ , but there had to be someone to sow doubt somewhere, especially among a crew of immortals who by pure hubris, were still alive and would be alive for centuries to come.

Nastya found him rather vocal with doubts, and she even once asked Marius what he meant by such.

He'd replied in some cryptic, un-Marius-like way, that he'd always thought of their immortality like a book — their story written as words upon a page. He believed every life had a story, and, like every story, every life had an end.

Then he'd wondered how long it would be until his story ended. He wondered how long until theirs ended.

It had often lapsed into silence afterward — the atmosphere of wherever they were would be filled with unanswered questions.

Nastya deliberately stood there in silence.

She'd wonder when her story would end, too.

* * *

Nastya sat alone upon the chair, holding an open book upon her lap and staring blankly at the words scrawled across the pages. They do not register in her mind no matter how much she knew she understood the language.

Eventually, she slammed the book shut and threw it onto the floor. Something hummed indignantly in response, and Nastya huffed.

“Oh, well… _Sorry_ I got angry at a book.”

The hum died down but it was still ever-present.

“...Didn’t sleep last night.” Nasty slipped off the chair and went to retrieve the book. “My ears wouldn’t stop ringing, and to add on to it all…” She tossed the book back onto the chair. “The Doctor was reciting Cyberian sonnets… _again_.”

She paused to let out a sigh, before adding. “Not that I don’t mind him reading aloud, but... _Cyberian_? He could do better than _that_ , surely?”

A creak answered her, then the steady hum seems to briefly and rhythmically intensify, as though in amusement, before falling off into silence again.

“See what I mean?” Nastya fell quiet, though her smile remained. “Okay. Okay, let me guess… he’s reciting shit from his sonnet book again.” She retrieved the book, threw it into the air, and mimicked the Doctor’s voice. “‘ _И все же, на небесах, я думаю, что моя любовь_ — oh sorry, Nastya. I didn't see you there. I was just reading’.”

She tossed the book on the floor again, laughing. “Damn, doesn’t he spend all his time in the library?”

Nastya got no response from the remark, though she pretended otherwise.

“Wondering if he learns anything else from being stuck in there for so long... Though maybe... Maybe I learn more by being stuck in here with my thoughts than he is surrounded by books.”

She sighed after a brief moment, then smiled again. “Maybe rambling to myself is better than the quiet, because I’m sure as hell know you’re not listening to me.”

The hum quieted down indignantly.

“You know that was sarcasm, right?”

Nastya listened, but there was no reply, so she picked the book up, opened it, and leaned back on the chair. “Don't know why I'm even trying to read. Feels stupid. Brain can't... Process English. Would prefer whatever... Coding languages.” She threw the book on the floor. “I give up. Maybe I'll —”

A knock on the control room door interrupted her. “What was this I heard about my terrible sonnet reading?”

“A ‘ _please can I come in_ ’ would have sufficed, Doctor.”

“Can I please come in?”

“ _Fine_.” Nastya hunched over in the chair.

The Doctor forced open the door and immediately threw his coat upon the railing. “So what did I hear about terrible sonnet reading?”

“Of all the things to focus on, you want to focus on your terrible sonnet reading.”

“Yes. What am I doing wrong with my sonnet reading?”

“Well, for one,” Nastya rolled her eyes. “Read your sonnets in English — your Cyberian is terrible.”

“Says who?”

She pointed at herself. “Says the _Cyberian_.”

“Fair enough.” The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “Never could perfect the language anyway. Too many letters. Verbs here, odd sentence structure there —Anyway... who was laughing?”

“Me, at your terrible sonnet reading.” She stood and tossed the book toward him and he caught it with a yelp. “ _Obviously_.”

But the Doctor shook his head, scowling at the book in his hands. “No. No, it wasn't you who was laughing. I know it wasn't you. It sounded... Too human. It was definitely someone else.”

“Well, unless you're starting to hear voices, it's just you, me, and...” Nastya paused, her breath catching in her throat. “... And the ship.” The last words were barely audible.

“Funny… haven’t heard her laugh in quite some time.” The Doctor sighed, combing a hand through his hair — he didn't seem to have heard her, at least, not entirely. “Especially about my sonnet reading. She never complained about my sonnet reading until you got here.”

“Well...” Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have to lie to your face about it all the time now.” Nastya chuckled at him; the ship, too, murmured in amusement. “I mean… I can hardly tolerate you for a minute before I have to start lying to your face, and even then I'm too brutally honest, so... Why expect any different about the ship?”

“At least both of you were honest about my sonnet reading.” The Doctor tosses the book on the controls.

“Fair.” Nastya fell back in the chair.

“Even if you were laughing about it.”

“Again, fair.”

The Doctor smiles a bit. “Well... At least you're happy — that's the good thing...”

“I feel like there's a ‘ _but_ ’ to this.”

“But you still need to get rest.” He said. “I overheard you — didn't sleep last night. You know even one night of no sleep is detrimental — I mean judging from how stressed you are, it's probably more than one night that you've lost. I mean —”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Nastya rolled her eyes. “If it's not you getting onto me, it's going to be the ship, and you know how she gets. Gonna hound me with thoughts until I sleep.” She rested her head in her hands.

Silence briefly followed her statement, until the Doctor broke it with a heavy sigh.

“I saw that.”

Nastya raised her head. “Saw what?”

“I saw you blush when you suggested it might've been the ship that was laughing.”

“No, I wasn't.” She hides her face from him — she can't deny that the fact is true, especially when she knew how much it happened and how nowadays she'd hide her face in her hands every time the ship was mentioned in conversation — and especially when, in said conversation, the ship would laugh, and then it would make it all the more worse. “I-I wasn't — right. _Fine_. Maybe I _was_. Still makes no difference.”

The Doctor muttered something incomprehensible, tilting his head back toward the ceiling. Then he smiled, and walked over to the controls, and began muttering again.

* * *

Such ‘ _private_ ’ mutterings were often never private. He'd wander about the common room, talking to himself — Nastya could frequently hear him from her places in the vents.

Often, these mutterings could be of immortality — which she paid most attention to regardless of the situation. He'd speak a doubt, then replace it with another, then yet another, until the first thought had been forgotten as if it'd never been spoken in the first place.

Somehow, though, they all circulated to the constant doubt of whether they really were immortal or whether this was all some dream or some ruse or something else entirely — a dream, perhaps.

She didn't like the implications of a dream. It would mean that she'd stayed dead on the floor of the palace and this whole thing was some afterlife she'd come up and was living through in her dying moments.

Nastya banished the thought. She bit down on her tongue until it was too painful to and the familiar, metallic non-taste of quicksilver filled her mouth.

There was no reason for this to be a dream. She’d experienced too much for this to be a stupid dream. Her feelings were as real as the now-dull ache of her bitten tongue — and both hurt too much to be fake. Both hurt too much for it to be a simple, stupid dream.

So why did she doubt that?

It was stupid to doubt that.

She curled up in the vents and listened to Marius as he paced by once again. Unfortunately, he appeared to be joined by another pair of footsteps. Judging from the odd, casual way that they moved, it was Jonny.

But he wasn’t speaking, which was odd. She didn’t want to know, even if her brain had its unfortunate thoughts about why Jonny wasn’t.

Nastya bit her tongue again and didn’t stop even when tears sprang to her eyes.

Around her, Aurora hummed in concern.

“I'll... Be fine. I just — _oh_.”

Blood dripped from her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue too hard.

It was laughable, of course. She'd doubted so much that she'd forgotten to pay attention and now her mouth was bleeding.

Nastya sits there for a moment, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and crawls farther into the vents.

* * *

Quietly she stands beside the railing, watching as the Doctor formulates his latest distraction. She smiles slightly but it faded quickly as a new thought comes to mind.

This was never good.

“Didn't you mention —” He waves his hand about. “You did have a crew — I remember you speaking about them, and there was...” He falters when she glares at him. “Anyway, while looking through a particular book in the library a while back, and I thought ' _huh, I've never really visited this place before_ ' and I went there.”

“Can I guess that something happened?”

“Well... more or less it was an experience I didn't exactly expect to happen.”

“You've been to hell and back — you, surprised?”

“I mean... This one was _beyond_ strange, I assure you.”

“Right... Since you're convincing me, then you may as well tell me about it.”

“Well, probably should stary from the beginning — give you a bit of context...” He circles the controls once before continuing. “Assuming from what you've said about your immortality and so I'd guess you've pretty much seen pretty much everything, haven't you?”

“List something off and I could give you how long ago it happened and to whom. Maybe the circumstances, but that all depends I've lived long enough.”

“Right,” The Doctor drew out the word. “Eaten by cats.”

“Two in particular. Jonny had his entire arm eaten by a swarm after he killed just one — on accident, mind you… I’d say almost six thousand years ago. That was… admittedly kinda funny. One of us was devoured whole on a certain occasion. I think it was Jonny — again — a few years before I left. I think they hate him. Anyway… what’s your point?”

“Ah, well...” He laughed nervously. “As I said, the place was beyond strange. I mean I kinda visited a planet beforehand. Picked up someone — said he was lost and needed to get off the planet. Wasn't sure of his name... Marius?”

“Let me guess,” Nastya raised her hand just barely above her shoulder. “Yea high, mechanical arm, sometimes claims to be some sort of doctor?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“Old friend of mine — another immortal.”

“Well...” The Doctor circled the controls again, drawing out what could only be a disappointed sigh. “This is going to be a tad unfortunate. I'll save you any extraneous details and just say wherever I took him to, it didn't turn out well for him in the end.”

“Eaten by cats,” Nastya finishes for him. She forces her voice to be lighthearted though her mind doesn't want it to. Such an end was... pitying. Marius — if it _was_ the same Marius — didn't deserve such a death, no matter how strange it did seem.

So she forced a laugh and said, “Eaten by cats. An ironic end for someone that hated them so much.”

* * *

“I really hate these things. There's way too _fucking_ many of them.” A catlike creature was deposited in her lap as she looked through a manual. “You watch it.”

“Good afternoon, Marius.” Nastya didn't look up from her manual; her tone was laced with thinly veiled sarcasm. “I trust you're doing well.”

“Not really...” He muttered. “Found a horde of those in one of the vents.”

“ _Another_ one?” She drops the manual to the floor.

“Unfortunately.”

Nastya chuckled a bit. She doesn't find this funny, but she tries to lighten the situation even just a bit. Admittedly, she pitied Marius and this unfortunate mess he found himself in. It was always him that found every octokitten, and even when he thought that he'd gotten rid of every single one, there was always another colony found in a previously unknown corner of the Aurora. That was enough to garner some pity from her — at least because, as she had said, he was always the unlucky one to find the octokittens. Perhaps someone else would be the lucky one... Some day. For now, it was the unfortunate Marius who would always find them, perhaps many times in the coming centuries.

“I'm sorry.” Nastya tries to stifle a laugh but it comes out louder than she anticipated. Marius sends her a less-than-amused glare and snorts.

“Just wait until you find one of their hordes.” He sighs. “You'll see how I feel, and then I will be the one laughing.”

“Alright, alright.” She picks up the creature and stares it right in the face. It sticks its tongue out at her. “I suppose you need a name, then.”

It meows and blinks at her.

“Marius,” She sets the kitten down and stares at him; he was clearly not paying attention. “Do you have a name in mind?”

He stares at her and blinks. “Do you think I want to?”

“Please, Marius,” She holds up the Octokitten for him to see. “Do you have to resist such a cute face?”

It meows happily at her question, as though pondering too.

Marius draws out a sigh, followed by, “Fine... Ideas... What would fit..?” He smiles then looking quite sure of himself, says, “Koshka.”

Nastya set the octokitten back in her lap and said nothing, though stared at him. “ _Кошка_...” She recognized the word — it came from her own language. But she never called any octokitten ‘Koshka’, especially within his earshot. “Of all the names you decide to name it... You're naming it ' _cat_ '.”

The octokitten purred at the name. Nastya shook her head.

“What else was I supposed to name it?”

Nastya ignores the question. “It seems to like the name. But... _Koshka_? It's like naming me ' _human_ '. It doesn't make sense, nor am I fully human, for that matter.”

“What correlation does that have to a cat's name?”

“Just pointing out the obvious.” She holds up the octokitten — Koshka — again. “And I guess the name works. Just don't go around calling me _Human_.”

“I don't make any promises.” He laughs. “Might be on accident. Might be on purpose.”

“I’ll kill you if you do, and that’s a genuine threat.” Nastya laughs, though, as she says this.

“No... You won't.” Marius waves her off. “You know you won't.”

“I will.”

“No.”

“I will send Koshka after you.”

“It won't eat me.”

“I'll let it eat your violin.”

“I'll steal yours.” He sticks his tongue out at her.

“I'll kill you for that, if not for the ‘ _human_ ’ name-calling.” Nastya avoids his gaze and looks down at Koshka. It looks amused — or whatever octokitten equivalent of the emotion of amused it had. “Won't I, Koshka?”

Koshka meows again, and Marius utters a quite audible and defeated sigh.

“Just... I'll make sure Jonny doesn't get that one if it really does like you.”

As if it understood his words, Koshka curled close to Nastya, purring quite loudly. It seemed to smile when she looked down upon it, and for a moment, she smiled back, murmuring her response to Marius as a barely audible, “Of course.”

Marius stole a glance at Koshka — Nastya thought she had caught a smile upon his face, but perhaps there was a chance that she had imagined it as well.

But the ship’s doctor laughs — but only briefly and likely humorlessly — rolling his eyes as he walked away. He disappeared without a reply nor confirmation that he’d heard Nastya.

She could probably care less, but she didn’t know.

He’d figure it out regardless.

Nastya knew that much.

* * *

“You alright?”

The Doctor suddenly taps on one of the control panels. Nastya startles and blinks into reality, ruffling her hair. “Yeah. Why?”

“I, uh, asked a question...” He awkwardly clears his throat. “You didn't look quite all there.”

“I'm fine.” She says. “What was the question?”

“Right,” He awkwardly clears his throat again; though he appears to work at the controls, when Nastya leaned heavily over the railing she saw that his hands were only hovering over them. “You said once that you had cats on that ship, didn't you, Nastya?”

“Yeah, some time ago, I think.”

I assumed you weren't listening because you had a book in your hand when I told you that.”

“Well, I was listening. What did you say they were?”

“Octokittens.” She gestures vaguely about in the air. “Kinda cat, kinda octopus... It's... Difficult to explain but —”

“Oh, octokittens.” The Doctor twirls a loose threat of scarf around his fingers. “I've read about those before — a long time ago, though. Don't remember much other than the fact that they multiply quickly and will eat practically anything in sight if not fed adequately — as you mentioned earlier, your brother is included in that ‘ _everything_ ’.”

“Well... Yeah, that's about it, I guess.”

“What did you think of them, besides the obvious nuisance?”

“I think they're fine... As long as I'm left alone when I'm working.” She hesitated, biting her tongue. “Well, there was one in particular that I hardly minded, but anyway...” She sank to the floor and held her breath. “Backtracking a little bit...Marius is gone...”

“You're... not surprised?” He sits down under the controls and turns a questioning gaze upon her — he doesn't seem to mind that the conversation has changed.

“Well, Marius was... to say the least, he was a skeptic when it came to the topic of immortality.” Nastya sighed heavily, crossing her arms. “Even if he saw one of us with his own eyes, he wouldn't believe it no matter how much it happened.”

“And you mentioned that he claimed that he was some sort of... _Doctor_..?”

“One could say that...” Nastya faltered. “Though I'd say... A _very unreliable_ one.”

“Ah,” The Doctor pulled a face. “Well, then I supposed that the manner of his death was more or less of a surprise?”

“More or less...” Nastya echoed with a certain solemnity in her voice. Of course, what she had said earlier would possibly be proven true, but Marius, skeptical as he was, well... he still was family to her.

“He kinda went off on his own... whatever cats were on that planet just... ate him, I guess.” He recollected. “For all I know, they could have been whatever cats were in your ship.”

“Octokittens...” Nastya stares off into space and chuckles humorlessly. “So that manner of devouring was...” Her voice falters. “Was...”

She knows why she's brushing this off so easily, and she doesn't like it — she doesn't like that she's unable to finish the sentence without her breath catching or how she's passing the death off as though it were some mundane thing that she'd experience every day of her life.

“Guess I was right about how unfortunate it was.” The Doctor muttered. “Should have just told you when it happened outright instead of keeping it a secret for so long.”

Nastya shakes her head and scowls. “How long exactly did you keep it a secret?”

“Well, it happened after we left the Sveitha. You were asleep so I found it best not to disturb you, and —”

“You're not answering the question.” Nastya kept her voice flat, though a snarl escaped into her tone. “How long have you kept this a secret, _Doctor_?”

“Four years.” He sounds defeated; when Nastya looks back at him, his head is in his hands. “It would have been longer if I had a bit more self-control, wouldn't it..?”

“ _Probably_.” Nastya's voice is blunt and she means it.

“Well, we should get going.” The Doctor gets to his feet suddenly. “Can't really stand here talking about morbid things and whatnot.”

Bitter, Nastya bites back a more blunt retort as she stands. _Yes. Please. Spare me some pain, actually. Take us off somewhere without death and all our problems will just go away_. She laughs at the thought, which earns her a look from the Doctor, but that doesn't silence her.

“Maybe I _do_ need some sleep. _I'm_ acting irrationally. _Terribly_ irrational.” She laughs again. “Yeah, fine. _Fuck this_. I'm going to bed.”

“No.” The Doctor's demeanor changes. He tosses his scarf upon the console, then storms over to her. “You,” He pushes her over to the chair. “Sit down. Wait here.”

“Oh, but you usually insist that I should sleep since I'm so _terribly morbid_ all the time.” Nastya stares up at him indignantly.

“You can sleep later.” He says; he goes to set his hands on her shoulders but she shrugs them off so instead, he fixes her with the owl-stare. “I am going to the library. I am going to get you a book. You are going to _read_ said book, and then you can go to bed.”

“And _again_ with the judging of sleeping habits.” She feigned a yawn.

“You can wait.” He said. “I'll be right back, okay?”

Nastya sighs, but reluctantly agrees.

The Doctor smiles, and turns; his coat billows behind him as he runs for the hallway door.

Nastya falls back in the chair and closes her eyes. Her thoughts — her memories — whirl past her before she can even begin to grasp what's going on.

She needs something to hang onto in those whirling memories — something to keep her sane, perhaps. It did beg the question of whether she was even sane to begin with.

She had her doubts, but she was tired and her mind was clouded and whirling. Perhaps, when she had rested, she could question better.

“You still awake?”

Nastya opened her eyes. “ _Unfortunately_.”

The Doctor had a book in his hands, holding it as though he were a child with some precious treasure. He even smiled, fitting the bill even more.

He sets it upon her lap and the smile disappears.

“Here,” The Doctor said quietly. “See? A book... As a distraction.”

Nastya rolled her eyes, but the Doctor plainly ignored her as he hurried to the controls.

She picks up the book from her lap. It looked hardbound and had a plain cover, and was quite small compared to the many textbooks Nastya had seen in her eternal lifetime. It wasn't heavy, either — about 600 pages at the very most. When she skimmed through it, she found it to be an encyclopedia of sorts; perhaps it was a history book.

“Why do you think—” She begins to protest, but hears the hurrying of footsteps followed by the hallway door shutting. “ _God_ , he needs to listen.”

The ship hums in amusement.

“ _You're_ one to talk.” She shakes her head. “‘Why yes, she's questioning her sanity, let's get her a history book.’ What a _wonderful_ idea, Doctor. I feel _so_ much better.”

The amused humming from the ship briefly grows louder, only to quiet again.

“Funny. Should try to read...” Nastya skims through the book, her head in her hands. “‘ _As a distraction_ ’, says the Doctor.”

She doesn't register the words upon the page when she reads but flips through it anyway.

“As a distraction...” She says. “Perhaps he's right...”

* * *

He doesn't believe in their immortality as a whole. He doesn't believe — at least at first — that their first mate is several thousands of years old though not a day has passed on his face since he was eighteen.

But what did he know? Everything was possible, even immortality. It was just... All strange and weird. He didn't like that he would never know the feeling of death — well, he would... just not permanently.

There was just no way to it. He knew each life had to be like a book. Books had to end. They didn't just... keep going. A never-ending story is never possible. It must all end. It couldn't continue.

Maybe he was just stubborn, but there had to be a doubter somewhere, even in a crew of immortal space pirates. Someone to just sow it, whether on accident or on purpose. He'd long forgotten which one — he was too old even to recall many things from his childhood, now.

He'd even forgotten why he was a part of this crew in the first place. He was their doctor, sure, but why specifically? He didn't ever remember becoming a doctor — but then again, as he'd mentioned, he didn't remember much of anything from his younger years.

Perhaps that was the interesting thing about stories — you needed to forget important details sometimes and that was it. You needed to let it go past you and you'd forget but perhaps that was the most intriguing bit of mortality. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was the up-and-coming ending that you couldn't change but subtly influence to perhaps hope your ending is done well.

He often wondered if he'd done well despite the circumstances. There would be only one way to find out, and that was to wait.

Unbeknownst to him, that waiting wouldn't take long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I did so much editing here  
> Blame that for the lateness hehe  
> I think I'll sleep now


End file.
